More than that--in all Jean’s work, in all his thoughts and plans Gabrielle was a part. When he crossed the little bridge over La Branche--it was there that he first noticed Gabrielle’s reddish-golden hair. When he was by the river--it was there that he had met her tripping over the stones in her short skirt and high boots, with rod and creel, a fisher-maiden whom more than fish might fear. When he passed through the woods, he saw her sitting under the trees amid patches of golden sunshine. When he was in church, she was kneeling there in prayer; and when he gazed at the high altar it was a glorified vision of Gabrielle that he saw, and not the Mother of God. When he thought of his great house, Gabrielle was there; on the day of triumph she would be his wife, his queen; and if ever misfortune came, he would go forth joyously to face the world, if only she were by his side. Yet Jean believed that Gabrielle was not first in his heart. His work, his vocation, commanded obedience above all. War first; then love. Achievement, victory; then the crown and the reward. True, she might not consent to take the second place in his scheme of life. Women were by nature jealous, unreasonable, demanding more than man could give. She might be angry when she discovered the order of precedence. Poor little Gabrielle! She might go to a nunnery, even, as many young girls did when they could not have their own way, or when they saw the vanity of the world. That would be a pity. No, he would never allow that. What were the stone walls of a convent compared with the power of love? But she might love another man. Ah, that was different. Where was that other who dared to raise his eyes to Gabrielle? Where? Who? At the very thought Jean’s eyes flashed beneath his lowered eyebrows; his jaw set; his hands clenched; and his figure rose to its full height, bending forward with such menace as would have given pause to any rival who dared to contend for the prize of love with Jean Baptiste Giroux. But it was only a girl that met him at the turn of the road, a girl with waving hair and laughing eyes--the girl of his dreams. "Mon Dieu, Jean!" said Gabrielle, in a tantalizing voice, before he had time to speak. "How fierce you look! I am almost afraid to be walking here alone, on the king’s highway. Is the thought of me so terrifying? I am quite harmless, I assure you. Or are you thinking of the last time we met, when I was so cross? I was provoked, you know, but I have got over it. It is hard to be cross with you, Jean." "Is it?" said Jean, simply. "I thought it was quite easy, much too easy, in fact." "Ah, stupid!" said Gabrielle, with a laugh. "All men are stupid, I think, and you more than others. How is it that you are so dull, Jean?" "Gabrielle," said Jean, meditatively, "am I really dull? I did not know it. At school I was thought rather clever. As for books----"