But he stopped in terror at his own act; and beating his brow like an insane man, he cried simply,—
"Adieu, Diane! adieu!" and fled.
If he had remained a second more, he could not have forborne to annihilate that blaspheming mother like the viper that she was!
Outside the convent Jean Peuquoy was anxiously awaiting him.
"Do not question me! Ask me nothing!" exclaimed Gabriel at once, in a frenzy of despair.
And as honest Peuquoy gazed at him in sorrowful astonishment, he said more gently,—
"Forgive me! I fear I am almost mad. I cannot collect my thoughts, you see. It is to avoid the necessity of thinking that I propose to go, to fly, to Paris. Go with me, if you will, my friend, as far as the gate where I left my horse. But, in God's name, talk about yourself; say nothing of me or my affairs!"
The worthy weaver, as much to comply with Gabriel's wish as to try to distract his thoughts, went on to tell how Babette was marvellously well, and had recently presented him with a young Peuquoy,—a splendid fellow; how their brother Pierre had established himself in business as an armorer at St. Quentin; and how, only the month before, they had had news from Martin-Guerre, by a Picardy trooper returning home, and had learned that he was still happy with his reformed Bertrande.
But it must be confessed that Gabriel, who was, as it were, made blind and deaf by his grief, did not understand and only partly heard this joyous narration.
However, when he and Jean Peuquoy arrived at the Paris gate, he warmly pressed the honest burgher's hand.