A thousand questions had Gabrielle to ask of madame his mother, white-haired, gentle Madame de Quernais, who, Breton of the Breton, looked in wondering horror at the doings and deeds that racked France, and refused to believe it possible that her Breton peasants could ever forget the gulf which separated noble and simple, or what was due to the houses of Varenac and Quernais in respect and honour.
And then there was Cécile—Cousin Cécile, who was just one year her senior. It was clear that Jéhan adored his sister almost as much as his mother. She was perfection in his eyes, and Gabrielle could picture the slim little figure with dark tresses piled high and the pretty baby face beneath, with its big black eyes and arched brows. She had courage and determination too, this Cécile de Quernais, and was no doll who cared only for dress and compliments.
Brittany bred daughters of better stuff than that.
Gabrielle listened and asked questions till she would have wearied a less interested speaker. But Jéhan could not weary when he talked of home.
When at last his young hostess rose, her hazel eyes were determined and red lips positive.
"I shall certainly return with you to Brittany," she declared. "Ah! you do not know how lonely it is here, and how I have always—always—longed for a sister."
Then suddenly the colour flooded her cheeks.
"I shall love Cécile," she said. "But perhaps ... yes, perhaps ... it would be better if she and Madame your mother came ... here."
De Quernais bowed to hide a smile.
"If it is impossible now for you to come to Brittany, my cousin," he murmured, "I shall pray the saints that one day I may have the felicity of taking you there."