Morry would bring them back with him, and Cousin Jéhan would follow when he and his hero Marquis had finally driven the Revolution into the sea.
In the intervals of such planning Gabrielle showed the new cousin her favourite haunts in the garden and orchard, whilst he taught her charming chansonettes to sing to the accompaniment of her guitar.
But she did not take him to the woods where the blackberries hung ripe and luscious amongst the brambles, for those were sacred to herself, and one other—the other who was no sort of a brother, but her dear knight for ever and ever.
She was telling Count Jéhan that they would walk to Berrington village that morning, when the door opened and the man of whom she thought stood before her.
And for the first moment Michael himself had no eyes save for the slender figure in its dainty morning wrapper of flowered chintz, with dark, unpowdered curls caught back by a pink ribbon, and cheeks flushing rosily as the sun-kissed clouds of dawn, as she smiled her welcome.
Count Jéhan had risen too, and the eyes of the two men met.
"You bring news, Monsieur?"
De Quernais' anxious tones were broken through by Gabrielle's glad cry.
"Of course Morry has come with you, Michael?"
But to her amaze he shook his head, scarcely turning towards her.