“It was my own thought,” continued the Duchess, smoothing Gabrielle’s hair and petting her. “Quite my own. You know how the idea of self-sacrifice will sometimes seize upon us women till it becomes almost a desire. It was so with me. I knew it would be so well for Morvaix if he could have some one by his side, heart-warm in the desire to help the people, strong in influence to modify the ever growing sternness of his rule by gentle suasive counsel--he is at heart a man amenable to such influence, Gabrielle--and able to take a due part in the work of government: a helpmeet in all ways. So I urged him to gain the sanction of Holy Church to dissolve our marriage, on the ground of our childlessness, and seek--another and a better wife.” “My dear, my dear,” cried Gabrielle, intensely moved. “Where could he find a better in all fair France than you? He refused you, of course.” “Yes--then; and not kindly, but with a gibe--that he had not found marriage an experience he wished to double. It wounded me of course to have what I meant in all sincerity to be a help to him thus turned to jeering; but he did not understand my motive, I think. But now he has gone back to the plan; for there is one, a woman among women, Gabrielle, who would be all that Morvaix could desire as his wife. And the one of all others whom I could best bear to see filling my place.” She paused for Gabrielle to speak; but no response came. “Her heart, like mine, is for the people’s weal and her influence would be far greater than mine could ever have been with the citizens; real, powerful, active, where mine is now dead. You have often told me how you love the people, Gabrielle.” “You must say no more,” answered Gabrielle, in a low firm voice. “I will not affect to misunderstand you, and I know you speak in all purity of thought and intent. But were all other considerations naught, I would never do you this wrong.” “He and all would honour you if you were his wife, Gabrielle.” “Nay, I should dishonour myself. I beg you say no more.” “You would be all-powerful to rule in Morvaix.” “Were the throne of France the guerdon I would not consent.” “Your heart is free, child?” The gentle eyes were full on Gabrielle’s face as the question was put, and the light that rushed to it did not escape them. “Gabrielle, my Gabrielle, I did not know;” and at that Gabrielle lowered her head and hid it on her friend’s heart. “Pray heaven he is worthy of you. Tell me, child. Or is it a secret?” “No secret,” said Gabrielle, lifting her head proudly. “My cousin, Gerard de Cobalt----” “Gabrielle, not he, surely not he, I trust,” interposed the Duchess, in a tone of dismay. “Oh, how I am punished for not having spoken my fears. Since last we spoke together of him and his coming, I have heard ill tidings indeed concerning him, but put off speaking to warn you until I could be certain. He is not worthy of you, child; far, far from it.”