“Gabrielle,” said Bellegarde, drawing her aside, and speaking in a low voice, “one kiss ere I go. You are my beloved--my other self, the soul of my soul. Adieu! This has been a miserable meeting. You have grieved me, love; but perhaps it is my own fault. I ought to have come alone. That Spaniard is disgusting”--Gabrielle turned her head away--“But I will soon return. In the meantime, a caution in your ear. If this same Don Juan comes again during my absence to pay you a second visit, send him off I charge you, by the love I know you bear me. Give him his _congé_ without ceremony; hold no parley, I entreat you; he is a sad good-for-nothing, and would come with no good intentions. I could tell you more. He is----, but next time you shall hear all. Till then, adieu!” “I will obey you, Bellegarde,” replied Gabrielle somewhat coldly; “but the Spaniard seems to me an honest gentleman, and looks born to command.” The whole party then proceeded to the courtyard, where the three horses were waiting. “Adieu, most adorable Gabrielle!” cried the Spaniard, vaulting first into the saddle. “Would to heaven I had never set eyes on you, or that, having seen you, I might gaze to eternity on that heavenly face.” “Well,” said Bellegarde gaily, for his spirits rose as he saw the Spaniard ready to depart, “you need only wait until peace be made, and then I will present you at Court, Don Juan, where Madame la Duchesse de Bellegarde, otherwise La Belle Gabrielle, will shine fairest of the fair.” “You are not married yet, Duke, however,” rejoined the Spaniard, looking back, “and remember, you must first have his Majesty’s leave and licence--not always to be got. Ha, ha, my friend, I have you there!” laughed the Don. “Adieu, then, once more, most beautiful ladies, adieu to you all! Bellegarde, _you have gained your bet_.” CHAPTER XXIV. CHARMANTE GABRIELLE. After this meeting Don Juan soon contrived to return, and the lady, forgetful of her lover’s advice, received him. This was sufficient encouragement for so audacious a cavalier, and an intimacy sprang up between them ending in a confession of his being the King. Gabrielle was charmed, for she had always been his devoted partisan. What at first appeared bold and free in his manner she now ascribed to a proper sense of his own rank, born as he was to command and to be obeyed. Their romantic introduction and the disguise he had condescended to assume on that occasion captivated her imagination almost as much as his unbounded admiration of her person flattered her vanity. Henry, too, was a fit subject for devoted loyalty at that time, closely beset as he was by the troops of the League, unable to enter Paris, and only maintaining his ground by prodigies of valour and the most heroic perseverance.