The marquis, influenced probably by his repentant brother, was amiable enough. The two talked Mesmer all day long; formed plans for mutual assistance: held lengthy conferences in the study, which always had, now the satisfying result of improving Clovis's temper. The first primrose had just emerged from its bed when the abbé announced one day the portentous fact that the marquis was packing his valise.
"Packing his valise! Tired of the dulness of Lorge?" Gabrielle felt a tinge of sadness at the thought. Why not have let things be? If there was to be a change, would it be for better or worse?
"How silly you are!" observed Clovis, cheerfully, remarking her wistful look. "Are we limpets glued to a rock? I am about to make a little journey, quite a short one--the effect of which in the future may transfigure the countenance of earth."
"You will not be absent long?" inquired the marquise, in a reproachful tone.
"A couple of weeks at most. The fact is, that I am going to Spa, and hope to bring back with me the assistant, without whom I can advance no further."
"You said you did not object," murmured Pharamond, softly.
"Object? Certainly not. I said so long ago."
Clovis frowned. He did not like to be reminded of dependence just as he was about to use his liberty.
"I have a hundred questions to ask, which must be answered by word of mouth, and shall bring back such a budget of testimony as shall surprise even you into belief. The country is distressingly quiet and monotonous. You are not afraid, I suppose, to await my return under the joint protection of my brothers?"
The abbé was innocently contemplating the tapestry opposite with rapt interest; the chevalier was examining the floor. If the husband had only known--how whimsical a question! Gabrielle glanced at one, then at the other, with a tiny twinge of misgiving, which speedily gave way to confidence, and replied simply--