Yet,—mark the insidious whisper of Satan,—such dreams of goodness and virtue were garments to be donned after he had accomplished his purpose. Sin was the necessary tool he must employ to win for his white dove the fair nest he coveted; therefore sin should be his boon companion till the work was done, and he almost forgot to shudder at her uncomely countenance or shrink from the foul whispers of her counsel in his haste to use her far his will. Afterwards he would spurn her—yes, afterwards, when Gabrielle reigned at Mereac—afterwards—but not now. *CHAPTER XV* The sound of revelry rose high in the great hall of Mereac. On the dais at the head of the table the young Sieur, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, raised his goblet of wine and drank deeply as he looked into the hazel eyes of the beautiful woman beside him. The guests around the table whispered together that Yvon de Mereac’s taste had not been amiss when he chose the lovely Diane de Coray for his betrothed, and toasts were freely drunk to the future châtelaine of the castle, and admiring glances flung towards the youthful beauty who sat there laughing and smiling so gaily and happily. Guillaume de Coray laughed too as he pledged the fair dame beside him and quaffed the choice hippocras which filled his cup. All indeed went well with those castles in the air which he was so intent on building. The first seeds were already sown, and his keen glance noted with a thrill of pleasurable excitement that the flushed cheek and sparkling eye of his young host wore anything but the bloom of health. His own eyes roamed slowly round the board as he followed the tenor of his thoughts, and fell at length on the face of Gwennola de Mereac. The young girl was sitting silent and pale amongst her brother’s guests, her listless eyes and apathetic replies to the cavalier beside her telling how far away were thoughts and heart. In vain the Comte de Laferrière whispered tender words in her unwilling ears. She replied in accents so cold that they must necessarily have chilled the warmest admirer; and at length the Count, weary of repulses, turned his attentions and compliments to a more sprightly damsel on his left, who seemed only too willing to respond to his wit and gallantry. If he had thought to chagrin his destined bride, the effect was quite contrary to his expectations, for Gwennola seemed entirely indifferent, if not oblivious, to his neglect, but sat in her place, pale, listless, and indifferent as before, except when for a moment’s space she raised her blue eyes to encounter de Coray’s mocking smile, when a flush of anger swept over her pale cheeks, and for a moment her eyes flashed with their old scorn and defiance.