The Girondins, mistrusting him, thrust him into the arms of Robespierre, who received him, saying, ‘We shall found Salente, and you shall be the Fénélon of the Revolution.’ Jean Baptiste Robert, to give him his name in full, was little conscious of the part it was his destiny to play, at the time our story opens. He and Peter were smoking. ‘Well, Thomas! what have you gained by this move?’ asked Robert, alluding to his brother’s expedition to Évreux. ‘To my mind,’ put in Peter, ‘you have acted very wrongly, and have not exhibited that respect to constituted authority which the catechism enjoins.’ Thomas had his own misgivings, so he did not answer. ‘You should have waited,’ said Robert. ‘That is your invariable advice,’ said Thomas, impatiently; ‘always wait, wait, wait--till doomsday, I suppose.’ ‘Till the election of deputies,’ said Robert, between his whiffs; ‘it is the same.’ ‘You will be inhibited, brother Thomas,’ Peter observed, as he shook some of the ashes from his pipe on to the floor; ‘as sure as eggs are eggs, Monseigneur the Bishop will withdraw your licence, and inhibit you from preaching and ministering the sacraments. And quite right too.’ ‘Why right, Peter?’ asked Thomas. ‘Because you have gone against constituted authority. I say, reverence constituted authority; never thwart it. Constituted authority, in my eyes----’ ‘Is constituted despotism,’ said Thomas. ‘No; it is right. Obedience is a Christian virtue; obedience is due to all who are set over us in Church and State. You have revolted against constituted authority, brother, and constituted authority will be down on you. You will be inhibited. Mark my words, you will.’ ‘No, not yet,’ said Robert. ‘To inhibit you would be to wing the story, and send it flying through the province. But be cautious for the future; the least trip will cause your fall.’ Madame Berthier tapped at the door, and the priest answered it. ‘I want to speak with you,’ she said, ‘for one minute.’ ‘Privately?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then walk this way.’ He conducted her to his sitting-room, and requested her to be seated. She did not remove her veil, but told him her name. ‘You came to Château Malouve in search of Gabrielle André,’ she said. ‘Did they tell you she was there?’ ‘Madame, I did go in quest of her. Pardon me for speaking plainly, but I knew she would be in great peril if she were there.’ ‘You were right, she would have been in great peril; I have protected her, however.’ ‘She is with you, then, madame?’ ‘She is with me at present: she has been very ill. The shock of her father’s death has been too great for her. She is recovering now.’ ‘Does the poor child remain with you?’ asked the priest. ‘At present; but I cannot say for how long. M. Berthier may be removing to Paris shortly, our time for returning to the capital approaches, and, if we go there--we--that is Gabriel, Gabrielle and I.’ ‘Who is Gabriel, madame?’ ‘An angel.’ ‘Pardon me, I do not understand.’