Jean took a long breath, and then another, to keep down the tide of emotion that was surging up from the depths of his soul. Then, pulling himself together with a mighty effort, he sprang over the fence and strode down the road toward his own home at a terrific pace, as though to escape as fast as possible from the place where he had seen the vanishing of all his hopes. For Jean did not deceive himself; he understood it all; could see it all, as in a vision. Gabrielle, that angel in the white robes, was leaving St. Placide--for ever. She was going to a wedding--her own--in the chapel of the Ursulines, before a congregation of black-robed sisters. She would be a bride--the bride of Christ. They would cut off her golden hair, dress her in black from head to foot, and make her say infinite prayers by night and day on the cold, stone floor. Did Christ demand that? "I do not believe that He will have that," said Jean, aloud. "But if so, I protest. It is not just. By Heaven, it is not! Ah, why did I not answer at the first call? Why did I not follow? Fool that I was! Yes, fool, fool!" "Not so fast, Jean Baptiste," said a voice directly in front of him. "Stop! You are running me down! Stop, I say! There you have done it! _Sacré diable_! Fool! Yes, fool, fool!" Jean stopped at last in his mad career, looked about in a dazed manner, and saw a little old man picking himself up from the dusty road, while filling the air with curses. "Why, Monsieur Laroche, is it you? What is the matter? You fell down? I ran over you? Surely not. Mon Dieu, Monsieur, if I did I am sorry. Forgive me, I beg of you. It was an accident, I assure you. I was not thinking; that is to say, I was thinking of something else. There, Monsieur, allow me to brush off the dust, and to hand you your hat. Oh, but I am sorry. What can I say?" "Nothing!" said the old man, with a vicious snap of the jaws. "Say nothing! Don’t speak to me! I will get even with you. Yes, I will punish you for this, Monsieur the Proprietor, Monseigneur the Millionaire that is to be. Yes, I will show you." "Well, Monsieur Laroche, if you feel like that I can do no more. Good-day, Monsieur." "Not so fast, Jean Baptiste Giroux," said the old man, with malicious deliberation. "Not so fast, my enterprising friend. Remember, if you please, the little payment that is coming to me, the half-yearly interest that will be due next week." "Well, what of it?" said Jean. "You will pay it," said the money-lender, with a leer, "on the very day." "Of course," said Jean, with contempt. "Is that all you wished to say?"