Mary Stuart and Gabriel.
And he, poor fellow, no longer knew where he was going or what he was doing. He descended the stairs mechanically, reeling like a drunken man. These three fearful experiences were too much for his reason. When he reached the grand gallery of the Louvre, his eyes closed in spite of him, his legs gave way, and he sank on his knees against the wall, murmuring,—
"I foresaw that the angel would cause me more bitter agony than the two devils."
He had fainted. Night had come on; and no one was passing through the gallery.
He was recalled to his senses by feeling a soft hand smoothing his forehead, and hearing a sweet voice speaking to his very soul. He opened his eyes. The little queen-dauphine, Mary Stuart, stood before him, with a lighted taper in her hand.
"Ah, how fortunate! Another angel!" said Gabriel.
"Is it you, Monsieur d'Exmès?" said Mary. "Oh, how you frightened me! I thought you were dead. What is the matter? How pale you are! Do you feel any better? I will call for help, if you wish."
"Useless, Madame," said Gabriel, trying to rise. "Your voice has restored me to life."