"Who knows," said Gabriel, shaking his head sadly,—"who knows if I, triumphant and fortunate as you say, do not need them rather to comfort and console me?"
His gaze, even while he was speaking, was still fastened upon the king, who for the moment seemed to be thinking deeply, and yielding to the arguments always more and more earnest of Madame de Poitiers and the constable.
Gabriel could but tremble at the thought that the favorite must have overheard the king's promise, and that his father and himself were undoubtedly the subject of their conversation.
The young queen-dauphine left him, with some gentle raillery upon his preoccupation.
At this moment Admiral de Coligny came up to him, and, in his turn, offered his hearty felicitations upon his success in maintaining and surpassing at Calais the renown he had won at St. Quentin.
The poor fellow had never seemed to be so petted by fate or more worthy of envy than when he was enduring such tortures as he had never before imagined.
"You are quite as successful," said the admiral, "in gaining victories as in minimizing the effects of defeat. I am more than proud to have foreseen your extraordinary merit, and my only regret is that I was not present to share with you the dangers of this noble feat of arms, so fortunate for you and so glorious for France."
"Other occasions will not be lacking, Monsieur l'Amiral," said Gabriel.
"I am much inclined to doubt it," said Coligny, with some sadness. "May God grant that if we do ever meet again upon a battle-field, it may not be on opposing sides!"
"May Heaven forefend, indeed!" exclaimed Gabriel, earnestly; "what mean you by those words, Monsieur l'Amiral?"