In their way, good looking fellows both. The chevalier was short and very fair, with pale blue eyes and a weak mouth, producing a somewhat washed-out effect. His nose was aquiline and delicately moulded. In many respects he bore a curious resemblance to his majesty the reigning monarch. The abbe, his junior by several years, looked a decade younger at least. He was slim and wiry, built on a small scale, with well-turned limbs and white hands remarkable for their fragility. Indeed, in considering his appearance people always remembered the soft, twining fingers which looked as weak as a woman's, and which, in a hand-shake, could give so firm a grip. His face was round and pale, his lips thin and tightly pressed together, his eyes steel-grey with a strongly accentuated pupil. There was something about his usual expression that suggested a particularly high-bred white cat--due possibly to a purring manner and an air of sensual complacency. But there were moments--not unknown to the chevalier--when the eyes could gleam with tawny lightning, darken with thunder-clouds, while the small even teeth were ground in passion, and the pale face turned livid. Like all seemingly light and effeminate beings, who are really of wrought steel, the gay and frolicsome abbe could become a sweeping whirlwind; but since he usually managed to have his way unchallenged, serious atmospheric disturbances were of rare occurrence. As the eyes of an angry cat seem to be illumined from behind, so on rare occasions of excessive wrath those of the abbe assumed a malevolent glitter, in face of which the chevalier cowered, despite his breadth of beam. His plump uncertain hands grew moist, his words were few and husky; he whimpered and breathed hard; and the privileged observer could have little doubt that there was absolutely nothing he could not be goaded to essay under pressure from Abbe Pharamond. On a certain mild evening in October, master and serf were riding home from Montbazon, and the latter unconsciously shrank and stopped his horse, conscious of the glitter that he feared. Wistfully and humbly he looked up, anxious to ascertain wherein he had offended. "The de Vaux are a charming family," remarked the abbe, airily kissing his fingertips. "I compliment you, dear brother." When the abbe chose to gibe, the chevalier sniffed something disagreeable. "Ha, ha! How lugubrious a countenance for a favoured lover! As doleful as a bee who's lost his sting! When do we propose to marry? Never keep a lady waiting!" "What do you mean?" stammered Phebus, mopping his brow. "Madame de Vaux expects you to propose for Angelique." "But I don't want to marry Angelique." "What! Not the delightful shoot from the family tree of which we hear so much? Like the Indian banyan its proportions darken the sky. Why not--tell me?" "Because I do not wish to marry at all," replied Phebus.