'What is it, Nicholas?' she asked; 'I wish you would not be so mysterious. You quite frighten me.'
'Do not be angry, my dear friend,' he replied, 'it is about that poor unhappy lady I want to speak to you. I expected to find you alone here.'
'Then why did you come?' asked Gabrielle.
'I did not know that there was a prospect of finding you alone when I started,' pursued Nicholas; 'but I heard that M. Foulon was dead. Dreadful! it is reported that he poisoned himself, but that may be only a report and worthless. As I came here, I passed the funeral procession.'
'But, Nicholas, my mistress knows nothing of this.'
'How strange! She is his daughter. Has she not been told that her father is dead?'
'No. She did not know of his illness.'
'That is wonderful,' said the young man. 'But possibly the family were not aware that she had left the Bastille.'
'They must surely have known that.'
'Anyhow,' continued Nicholas, 'I saw the funeral on its way through the Rue S. Honoré to the church of S. Rocque. The cortège is splendid, and is passing through all the most important streets. Several carriages follow the hearse. No expense seems to have been spared.'