“_Pardieu_, madame, you have made me a fine speech. You talk all this nonsense to make me dismiss Rosny. If I must choose between you, let me tell you, Duchesse, I can part with you better than with him.” Gabrielle turns very pale, and clings to a chair for support. “Come, Rosny, we will have a ride in the forest, and leave the Duchesse to recover her usually sweet temper”; and without one look at her, Henry strode towards the door. These bitter words are more than his gentle mistress can bear. With a wild scream she rushes forward, and falls flat upon the floor at the King’s feet. Henry, greatly moved, gathers her up tenderly in his arms. Even the stern Sully relents. He looks at her sorrowfully, shakes his head, collects his papers, and departs. The Holy-week is at hand. Gabrielle, who is to be crowned within a month, is to communicate and keep her Easter publicly at Paris, while the King remains at Fontainebleau. An unaccountable terror of Paris and a longing desire not to leave the King overwhelm her. Again and again she alters the hour of her departure. She takes Henry’s hand and wanders with him to the Orangery, to the lake where the carp are fed, to the fountain garden, and to the Salle de Diane, which he is building. She cannot tear herself from him. She speaks much to him of their children, and commends them again and again to his love. She adjures him not to forget her during her absence. “Why! _ma belle des belles!_” exclaims the King, “one would think you were going round the world; remember, in ten days I shall join you in Paris, and then my Gabrielle shall return to Fontainebleau as Queen of France. I have ordered that _bon diable_ Zametti, to receive you at Paris as though you were already crowned.” Now Zametti was an Italian Jew from Genoa, who had originally come to France in the household of Catherine de’ Medici, as her shoemaker. He had served her and all her sons in that capacity, until Henry III., amused by his jests, and perceiving him to be a man of no mean talents, gave him a place in the Customs. Zametti’s fortune was made, and he became henceforth usurer and money-lender in chief to the reigning monarch. “I love not Zametti,” replies Gabrielle, shuddering. “I wish I were going to my aunt, Madame de Sourdis, she always gives me good advice. Cannot your Majesty arrange that it should be so still?” “It is too late, sweetheart. I do not like Madame de Sourdis; she is not a fitting companion for my Gabrielle. Zametti has, by my orders, already prepared his house for your reception, and certain _parures_ for your approval; besides, what objection can you have to Zametti, the most courteous and amusing of men?” “Alas! Henry, I cannot tell; but I dread him. I would I were back again. I feel as though I were entering a tomb. I am haunted by the most dismal fancies.”