Gabriel, whenever that desolating thought crossed his mind, felt as if a sword were piercing his heart. He would drive his spurs into his horse, and put his hand to his sword; and generally it was the sad and sweet thought of Diane de Castro which would remove his anger and soothe his troubled soul.
It was with a mind harrowed by doubt and anguish that he at last reached the gates of Paris on the morning of the fourth day. He had travelled all night; and the pale light of dawn was just beginning to break as he rode through the streets in the neighborhood of the Louvre.
He drew rein before the royal mansion, still closed and silent, and asked himself whether he should wait there or go on; but his impatience made him loathe the thought of doing nothing. He determined to go at once to his own house, Rue des Jardins St. Paul, where he might at least hope to hear some tidings of what he feared at the same time that he longed to know.
His road thither took him by the frowning turrets of the Châtelet.
He stopped for a moment before the sinister portal. A cold perspiration bedewed his forehead. His past and his future lay hidden behind those humid walls; but Gabriel was not the man to allow his feelings to monopolize much time which he might usefully devote to action. He therefore shook off his gloomy thoughts, and went on his way, saying simply, "Allons!"
When he reached his home, which he had not seen for so long a time, a light was shining through the windows of the lower hall. The zealous Aloyse was already astir.
Gabriel knocked, uttering his name at the same time. Two minutes after he was in the arms of the worthy soul who had been like a mother to him.
"Ah! is it really you, Monseigneur? Is it really you, my own dear boy?"
She could find strength to say no more than that. Gabriel, having embraced her most affectionately, drew back a step or two, the better to look at her.
There was in his look an unspoken question clearer than words could make it.