"No, say nothing to her," Gabriel resumed, "except that she is free, and that I give back to her all her promises, even that of which this veil is the pledge."
"Is that all, Monseigneur?" asked the page.
"That is all," said Gabriel. "But, André, if nothing has been heard of me, and you see that Madame de Castro is a little anxious, you may add—But for what good? No, add nothing, André. Ask her, if you choose, to take you back into her service. Otherwise, come back here and await my return."
"That is to say, Monseigneur, that you will surely come back?" asked the nurse, with tears in her eyes. "But when you said that perhaps we should not hear any more of you—"
"Perhaps that would be best, dear Mother," said Gabriel, "that you should hear nothing of me. In any event, hope for the best, and await my return."
"Hope, when you have disappeared from all eyes, even from those of your poor nurse! Ah, it is very hard to hope!" replied Aloyse.
"But who said that I should disappear?" returned Gabriel. "Ought I not to provide for every contingency? For my own part, never fear; whatever precautions I may take I rely upon embracing you again very soon, Aloyse, with all the gratitude of my heart. That is most probable; for Providence is a kind and loving mother to him who implores her protection. Did I not begin, too, by saying to André that all my injunctions to him would probably be useless and void in the almost certain event of my return to-day?"
"May God bless you for those dear words, Monseigneur!" cried poor Aloyse, moved beyond expression.
"Have you no other orders to give, Monseigneur, to be executed during your absence?—which may God make of brief duration!" asked André.
"Wait a moment," said Gabriel, as a thought seemed suddenly to occur to him. Seating himself at a table, he wrote the following letter to Coligny:—