Gabriel appeared at the door, doing his best to control his emotion. He bowed low to Madame de Castro, who, in her confusion, did not at first return his salute.
However, she dismissed the page and her maid with a gesture, and they were left alone. Then they approached, and their hands met in a cordial grasp.
For some seconds they remained with hands joined, gazing at each other in silence.
"You thought best to come to my house, Diane," said Gabriel at last, in a deep voice. "You wished to see me, to speak with me; so I have hastened to you."
"Did it need that action on my part, Gabriel, to apprise you that I wanted to see you? Did you not know it well enough without that?"
"Diane," Gabriel replied with his sad smile, "I have given sufficient proofs of courage heretofore, so I may venture to confess that in coming to the Louvre, I am afraid."
"Afraid of whom?" asked Diane, who was herself afraid of the effect of her own question.
"Afraid of you!—of myself!" replied Gabriel.
"And that is why you chose rather to forget our former affection?—I speak of the legitimate and sanctified side of it," she hastened to add.
"I should have preferred to forget everything, I confess, Diane, rather than put foot inside the Louvre. But alas! I could not. And the proof—"