"Do you know why our dear Clovis is in so villanous a humour?" he asked, glancing archly down at the marquise. "No, of course not. You would never guess. He wants something of you, and is afraid to ask, lest you refuse."
"Afraid of me!" ejaculated Gabrielle, amazed.
"Not quite that--but husbands do not like to ask favours and be refused."
The marquise held her peace, for she was bitterly hurt. Refuse a favour to him, the husband whose good graces she was here to cultivate? Never. Oh, why was he so very blind! How could she ever hope to win his entire love and confidence if he read her character so ill! Then, overcome by emotion, she wept and confided in the abbé, who skilfully soothed her pain. He did not deserve such a treasure--this purblind, blundering husband, of course he did not; but since the Church had bound the two together, there was nothing for it but to make the best of the bad bargain. It was most fortunate that he, Pharamond, should have joined the circle, for it should be his privilege, as son of the Church, if permitted so great a favour, to act as go-between on delicate subjects, and prevent friction. Now here was a silly thing which, but for him, might have led to estrangement. Clovis had concluded that his scientific investigations demanded a trained assistant, and dreaded to admit as much. Was he not a foolish fellow?
Gabrielle's heart sank low within her. Oh, Clovis! Clovis! An assistant! an army of assistants, if he so wished it. But it was soul-harrowing that his desires should require an interpreter. And now the good churchman changed his note from comfort to gentle chiding. She was ungrateful, the dear Gabrielle, to be so impatient. The ambassador would run on the instant and tell Clovis how he wronged his wife. She was ready to do all he wished, as he might have known she would be. Rome was not built in a day, and the firm trusting confidence which should unite wife and husband requires to be put together brick by brick, with plodding patience for a trowel. It should not be the abbé's fault if his watchful care did not produce, with time, the desired end. He would try, but Clovis was of a suspicious and untrusting nature, and if failure were to result after all--why he, the abbé, could not help what, of course, he would bitterly deplore.
It is a curious fact that this was not quite the communication which he made to Clovis when, presently, he joined him in his study.
"She has given way," he said; "I thought I could persuade her. I led her to feel that though she may hold the purse-strings, she must learn to know that you are master. We shall arrive at that, and make good our independence with constant quiet pressure. How wise of you to trust in me! Leave the whole matter in my hands. Say nothing on the subject yourself, for the plant of marital right is a fragile one which requires most careful handling."
Gabrielle spent much of her time in reflection, wondering how it was that she should be so lamentably misunderstood. The only one who could read her aright was Abbé Pharamond, and yet there were points in his behaviour which perplexed the simple lady. He was kind and sympathetic now as he invariably was; but a change might be detected in his manner, which was a difference, though so slight a one that a man would scarce have noticed it. He loved to recline at her feet reciting poetry or reading classic prose--a course of improving literature, he called it, for the storing of a magazine that was somewhat empty; and in intervals of rest she would find his steely eyes fixed steadily on her with a peculiar expression that was half pity. Warming under his ever-ready sympathy she confided to him one day the shocking details of a certain evening on the river, and was unaccountably pained and disappointed at the way he treated the disclosure. In the butterfly clergy of Paris--steeped to the lips in vice--such a view would be natural and consistent; but that Pharamond, self-elected friend and Mentor, should display so little indignation and proper principle was distressing.
Instead of being shocked at the escapade of Phebus, he laughed outright, and remarked lightly, "Of course, the poor donkey fell in love with you. He must, indeed, be a figure-head of wood who could resist such charms, and I should be sorry to find a brother of mine to be made of timber. Command me. Am I not your champion? Shall I rush forth and spit the simpleton for his temerity?"
Clearly this was not the spirit in which a son of Mother Church should receive the news of a brother-in-law's declaration, and Gabrielle declared as much to her trusted counsellor.