Gabrielle shook her head. "I saw him for the first time to-day, not very long ago, when I was speaking to Flora. I had come out for a moment when she called to me, and he came over the bridge and took us unawares."
Lagardere looked at her thoughtfully. "Could you love such a man as he?" he asked, gravely. "He is young, he is brave, he is witty; he might well win a girl’s heart."
Gabrielle returned Lagardere’s earnest look with a look of surprise. "He is a noble. I am a poor girl."
Lagardere smiled wistfully. "How if you were no longer to be a poor girl, Gabrielle? How if this visit to Paris were to change our fortunes?"
Gabrielle looked at him curiously. "Why have we come to Paris, Henri? I thought there was danger in Paris?"
"There was danger in Paris," Lagardere said, slowly—"grave danger. But I have seen a great man, and the danger has vanished, and you and I are coming to the end of our pilgrimage."
"The end of our pilgrimage?" echoed Gabrielle. "What is going to happen to us?"
"Wonderful things," Lagardere said, lightly—"beautiful things. You shall know all about them soon enough." To himself he whispered: "Too soon for me." Then he addressed the girl again, blithely: "When I took you to Madrid you saw the color of the court, you heard the music of festivals. Did you not feel that you were made for such a life?"
Gabrielle answered instantly: "Yes, for that life—or any life—with you."
Lagardere protested: "Ah, but without me."