‘Mind,’ she said, sharply; ‘I ask for love. If I do not get it, I take revenge.’ Then she swept into her room, and shut the door. Gabrielle was there in her white dress and veil, scarcely less pale than her garments. The roses in her wreath exhaled a strong odour as they faded. She stood where she had been placed by Berthier, nearly in the middle of the room. The evening was rapidly closing in. The sun had set, but through the west window the light from the horizon glimmered. Madame Berthier threw herself into a seat and looked at Gabrielle. ‘Are you a bride?’ she asked, in a harsh voice. ‘No, madame,’ answered the girl, trembling. ‘Ah! no. You were one of those in procession to-day.’ ‘Yes, madame.’ ‘How came you here?’ ‘Madame, I think I fainted at the thunderclap, and I remember no more, till I was brought through the yard into this house.’ ‘Have you been here before?’ ‘Madame, I have been to the Chateau sometimes with my roses.’ ‘What roses?’ ‘The bunches that I sell.’ ‘Then you are the flower-girl, are you, whom I have seen at the gate sometimes?’ ‘Yes, madame.’ ‘Why have you been brought here, do you know?’ Gabrielle burst into tears, threw herself on her knees, and stretching out her hands towards the lady entreated:--‘Oh madame, dear, good madame! send me home, pray let me out of this dreadful house. Madame, I want to go home to my father; pray, good madame, for the love of Our Lady!’ ‘Child,’ said Berthier’s wife, ‘are you not here by free choice?’ ‘Oh no, no!’ cried Gabrielle. ‘Only let me go, that I may run home.’ ‘Where do you live?’ ‘At Les Hirondelles.’ ‘What is your name?’ ‘Gabrielle André.’ ‘Gabrielle?’ ‘Yes, madame.’ The strange woman uttered a scream of joy; caught her cat in her hands, and held it up before the girl. ‘See, see!’ she said; ‘this is Gabriel, my own precious Gabriel!’ She softened towards the poor child at once. ‘Come nearer,’ she said. ‘What have you let fall? Ah! your taper. They brought that with you, did they?’ ‘Madame, I think I had it fast in my hand.’ ‘Wait,’ said the lady. She struck a light, and kindled the taper, which Gabrielle had raised from the floor. ‘Just so,’ continued she; ‘hold the light before you, and remain kneeling, that I may see your face; but do not kneel to me; see! turn yonder, towards the western sky, and the dying light, and the evening star.’ Gabrielle slightly shifted her position, too frightened to do anything except obey mechanically. ‘You are very pretty,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘How very beautiful you are! Do you know that?’ ‘Madame!’ Gabrielle was too much alarmed to colour. ‘Now, tell me, do you know M. Berthier?’ ‘Oh, madame!’ the girl said, with a sob, as her tears began to flow; ‘I dread him most of all. He frightens me. He is wicked; he pursues me with his eyes. Father had just promised that I should never come to this house again, because, because----’ she was interrupted by her tears. ‘Go on, Gabrielle.’