The Duke turned from the window, and paced the room with quick angry strides, his face black as night and his eyes blazing with hot jealous rage. De Proballe watched him stealthily, wondering what this new dangerous mood portended. “They are coming to the terrace,” he said at length; and the two watchers concealed themselves close by the open casement. The lovers approached, all unsuspecting that keen vengeful eyes were bent upon them from under the strained pent brows of a man half mad with jealous frenzy. And a handsome picture they made as they came up the broad steps laughing gaily in the sweet abandonment of new-found all-trusting love. Gabrielle held in one hand the kerchief with which she had at first covered her head, and in the other was a posy of freshly plucked flowers, from which she had chosen a red rose to give to Gerard. Her face was radiant with smiles and her eyes glowed as she turned them ever and again upon her handsome lover by her side. At the head of the steps she stayed and leant in a graceful pose against the marble pillar on which stood the statue of a fantastically carved faun. “And must you really go now to the Castle?” she asked. “M. de Proballe named this hour, Gabrielle.” “I am loath for you to go, cousin; yet could wish you gone that I may look for your return, and long for it.” “You do not think I leave you willingly?” A tender glance was the answer, and at the sight of it the angry man within the room close by drew in his breath sharply as if in pain. “I believe I shall count the minutes till you return,” she said. “Am I not foolish? But your coming has changed my world.” “If it be foolishness, then it is good to be foolish,” returned Gerard. “You will be careful with the Duke, remembering what I have told you, Gerard.” “I have to think of you, Gabrielle, and the thought will inspire me to caution.” “I would I could be present. Not that I doubt you; maybe,” she smiled, “it is only because I do not like to be parted from you.” “The minutes will be no less leaden to me while I am away;” and again they smiled each to the other with such a glance that the Duke could endure no more. “This must end,” he whispered fiercely. “I will bear no more;” and he was moving impetuously when de Proballe stayed him and whispered in reply-- “I beg you have patience, my lord. He is but adopting my suggestion and wooing her that the marriage may take place the sooner.” “Then he must find some other way. It is hell to me.” “Stay; some one comes. By all the saints in heaven, it is Denys!” He was walking with difficulty, and leaning on Lucette’s arm for support. “It is he who knows something of our plans, my lord, and should have been silenced by your men yesterday. He must be stopped, or he will poison her ears against him.” But the Duke, catching eagerly at the words, laid a strong hand on de Proballe’s arm and held him as he whispered in tense accents--