“What happened to them?” asked Lucette. And when Pascal told her of Dauban’s treatment, she laughed and clapped her hands. “May I tack a condition to my pardon, monsieur?” asked Gabrielle, smiling. “Were I one of your cautious burghers, I would urge that the condition be first specified.” “It is that you do not leave with the Bourbon forces to-morrow, but remain to be a friend and help to us all.” “Then I pray you undo the tacking. Remember how sad a place Morvaix must ever be in my memory.” “Sad?” exclaimed Lucette. “Monsieur!” “I mean because of my many bereavements here.” “Bereavements, monsieur?” said Gabrielle, with a frown of perplexity. “Bereavements truly; what else? ’Twas here in Morvaix I lost my wife, after a union of but a few minutes; and after that my newly betrothed was snatched from me by inexorable fate.” They both laughed, and Lucette said-- “Then you are desolate?” “In truth could I be otherwise? I am always, and in earnest what Gerard was in masquerade for a few hours--a courier of fortune; and without the hope that the fortune I chased may prove as charming and delightful.” “I would you could have stayed, monsieur; and I thank you for your pretty compliments,” said Gabrielle, smiling and blushing. “You go to Paris, monsieur, I understand,” said Lucette. “Doubtless there you will find consolation.” “In Paris there may be distractions, even if not consolation,” he answered gaily. “Try to persuade him to remain, Lucette,” said Gabrielle, going into the house. “Why will you not remain, M. Pascal?” asked Lucette half nervously and more seriously than usual with her. “Is not the answer there, with her, Lucette, and here perhaps with you?” He spoke lightly, but his eyes were serious. “I am not sure that I understand you.” “And I am sure there is no need that you should. They will be a happy pair, I hope with all my heart; as I hope indeed that you will be happy with M. St. Jean--a prince of worthy fellows--even if a trifle disposed to jealousy. I have had much talk with him in the last few days.” She was silent a moment turning over a ring on her finger. “I hope you will be happy also.” Her voice was soft and low and trembled slightly. “I am a soldier and love my colours. I have health and strength, a sound body and a modicum of wits, trust in myself and strong hope, and kindly memories to carry with me from Morvaix. Why should I not be happy?” “Despite your bereavements?” And she smiled. “Or perhaps because of them, Lucette.” “A double-edged sentence that, surely.” “And therefore best suited to the thought behind it.” She lifted her eyes and looked at him searchingly, and he met the look with an easy smile. “I wonder what you mean?” she said, so earnestly that her tone was almost sad. “Your wonder is not greater than my own,” he laughed. “In our worst troubles recently you laughed. You have a laugh for everything.”