Then his hands would move convulsively, his hair stand on end, and his chest heave with passion; and he would emerge from that terrible communion with the dead with his hatred renewed and more bitter than ever.
During such moments of anguish, Gabriel regretted having allowed his vengeance to follow in the wake of circumstances, for it seemed insupportable to him to have to wait for it.
His blood boiled to think that while he was waiting so patiently his murderous enemies were triumphant and joyous. The king sat peaceably on his throne at the Louvre. The constable was growing rich on the miseries of the people, and Diane de Poitiers rioting in infamous debauchery.
This state of things could not last. Since God's vengeance was sleeping, and the sufferings of the oppressed were growing daily greater, Gabriel determined that he would do without the help of God or man, or rather that he would constitute himself the instrument of divine justice and of human wrath.
Thereupon, carried away by an irresistible impulse, he would place his hand on the hilt of his sword, and make a motion as if to go and seek his revenge.
But then his conscience would awake and remind him of Diane de Castro's letter, written at Calais, in which his beloved had implored him not to undertake to chastise with his own hand, and not to strike even the guilty unless he were to do it involuntarily, and by the will of God.
Then he would read again that affecting missive, and involuntarily let his sword fall back into its scabbard. Stricken with remorse, he would resign himself once more to wait.
Gabriel was one of those men who are born for action, but have not executive ability. His vigor and energy were marvellous when supported by an army, or a small party, or even one great man; but he was not fitted by nature to carry out extraordinary achievements alone, even for a good object, and still less when they were to end in a crime. He was neither a powerful prince nor a startling genius by birth, and the power and the will to take the initiative were equally lacking in him.
When beside Coligny, and again when with the Duc de Guise, he had accomplished marvellous exploits. But now, as he had given Martin-Guerre to understand, his task was a very different one; instead of having enemies to fight in the open field, he had to chastise a king, and there was no one to assist him in that fearful work.
Nevertheless he still relied upon the same men who had formerly lent him their powerful aid,—Coligny the Protestant, and the ambitious Duc de Guise.