The astute abbé was puzzled by the governess. Her arrival upset all his calculations. Clovis had never consulted him any more than Gabrielle, and under a preoccupied manner, he had, on receipt of the letter, been consumed by a white heat of rage. To dare to introduce a foreign element without his consent! Had he been scheming all this while to be baffled by a stranger? For surely in so small and retired a household she would take a prominent part. Would the woman turn out friend or foe? He had deemed the dreamy Clovis well under his thumb for life. The chevalier was a mere pawn upon the board. Since playing that false move on the night of the storm, he had employed all his arts to lull Gabrielle's suspicions, and had succeeded beyond expectation. That a head so cool as his should for once so betray its owner! A little patience. So delicious a prize was worth working and waiting for, and trying for again and again. Of different grit to the chevalier, he was not one to submit to defeat on a first repulse. No: his appetite was whetted. The morsel should be his and only his, as he had openly sworn; and would be all the more enjoyable for a little vexatious waiting.
Thus had he arranged the future in his mind. But now, what of the governess? This unexpected move must be met somehow. Would it be well to form an alliance with her, or must she be promptly ousted? Her character must be studied with care. Evidently by nature domineering, what would be her attitude to him? Could she be frightened and brow-beaten? Not likely. Would she endeavour to undermine the influence he had already gained in order to reign alone? Probably.
At the thought the abbé's eyes gleamed cat-like, and his thin lips tightened over grinding teeth. Turned out by a scheming stranger, and when all promised so well. To be turned out meant ruin, for things in the south had been going so wrong during the last six months, had become so much worse since the period of their hurried flight from Toulouse, that both brothers were quite dependent on the marquis. To be ejected now, or later, by the large dark hand of the unwelcome Aglaé would mean pecuniary undoing, and the loss of the sweet morsel as well. Resign Gabrielle? Never! How to manage, then? The marquise was inclined to be friendly with the interloper, which showed a too Christian frame of mind to cope with mundane buffeting. This must be combated at once, lest it should become necessary before long to make a combined effort for the annihilation of the intruder.
What had the baleful woman come for to this dismal and remote retreat? Why had Mesmer thrust his protégée upon the neophyte? With curses the abbé admitted inwardly that he was himself at the bottom of the imbroglio. With the idea of dividing the husband from the wife for ever, he had conceived the plan of burying Clovis so deep in mysticism that he might never be pulled out of the slough, and to that end had suggested an assistant who should be taught to play upon his foibles. But who could be expected to foresee that the adept would take the form of a woman?
Of course, the woman was a greedy adventuress in search of flesh-pots, and had gauged aright the feeble and vacillating character of the young Marquis de Gange. She was evidently extremely gifted and he the dullest of good-looking dogs. Already he was dazzled by the jewels of a varied experience which she threw about so freely, and began to babble exasperating nonsense of having met his "Affinity" at last!
That she had some deep design on hand was evident, for she laid herself out to dazzle the besotted Clovis, and succeeded but too well. If it were not so, what could the motive of so brilliant a person be for deliberately banishing herself to this hermitage? She had certainly not jogged along those rugged roads for the edification of two strange children, however abnormally cherubic.
In the struggle which must come, simple Gabrielle would be worsted. Beauty and honest innocence alone are never a match for intellect, even when combined with outward homeliness. Aglaé Brunelle was not absolutely ugly, and yet by no means pretty; but when a superior mind shines through a face, however plain, does it not light the features with a beauty all its own? Toinon had learnt that long since, and used it, as we have seen, for a text.
The more he thought the matter over, the more puzzled grew the abbé; the more angry with himself and dissatisfied. A very few days after the arrival of Mademoiselle, her pervading presence began to be felt by the entire household in a way that maddened Pharamond. It was like the mysterious action of yeast on dough. As outwardly respectful and submissive as a dependent should be, everybody came to feel that orders emanated from her. Was the fascination due to an occult power inoculated by the prophet? Even the scoffing abbé began to wonder whether there was something serious underlying the antics of the charlatan, after all. Certain it was that she did possess a power, but whether due to magnetism or strong will, it was hard to determine. The abbé's will was as tough as hers, he was proud to think, but instinct told him that a struggle between the two would be exhausting to both, and that none might prophesy the result. Better an alliance, if she, like him, was working on a web. But would she brook a divided sway? Was he prepared to accept so unsatisfactory an arrangement? How exasperating, that just as the horizon seemed so clear, the sky so cloudless, a thunderbolt should come out of the blue to play havoc with all his combinations.
What of Gabrielle? His schemes revolved around her. Thanks to his cleverness he and she had tranquilly resumed their old relations. He did not propose to be content to read poetry for ever. A time was to come when she was to return the burning kisses he had impressed upon her shoulder, and twine her arms about his neck; and that longed-for moment was no nearer now than months ago. To tame the fluttering bird to his will he must do a little squeezing, after all, and make up by the ardour of the future for the painful proceedings of the present. Yes, Gabrielle must be gently racked, be made familiar with tweaks and pains. A little twist or two and a tug of ropes just to hint of such a tearing as was possible. Perhaps the governess, if an alliance could be brought about, might become a useful agent instead of a kill-joy. Isolated on all sides, the Marquise de Gange must be thrown on her dear friend the abbé for protection; then the rest would quite naturally follow.
Among other things the accomplished Aglaé was a skilled musician, and this became a new and unexpected bond between her and the enchanted marquis. She could rattle off by heart on the spinet all Lulli and Glück, could even improvise entrancing accompaniments to airs hitherto unknown to her. She loved music, and considered the violoncello to be the most soul-stirring if sad of instruments. Sometimes her hands would slide from the keys while a great sigh burst from her capacious bosom, and the marquis looking up would perceive tears rolling down her cheeks. "It is nothing, but I do love it so," she would snuffle incoherently, and then resume the improvising with eyes and nose unbecomingly roseate and swollen.