"Oh! what a tender brother!" the latter continued; "for I will even assist you in your quest. Yes, I, the virtuous Abbe Pharamond. The doctor prescribes a fervent wooing--a scaling of the ramparts--a storming of the citadel. You have gone too timidly to work. Between this husband and wife there can be no bond of union. That much we know. _Ergo_, the heart of the beauty is yet to win, since she is fancy free. You shall try your luck in earnest, and I will give you all my help--on one condition." "You will!" murmured Phebus, melted to tears by admiring gratitude, "How shall I repay such kindness?" "Thus. You try your hand and do your best, but if you fail you retire for ever from the field. If she likes you, well and good. Win and wear her and be happy. If not, promise to worry her no more with annoying importunities." The suggested arrangement was so singular, that the chevalier, recovering himself a little, knew not what to think. What could his astute brother be driving at? Why should he desire to throw the hitherto unstained wife into a lover's arms? Had he a spite against the marquis? No. Against Gabrielle? Hardly. Perhaps he was sorry, as Phebus had been, to observe Clovis's neglect, and anxious to see Ariadne consoled? How kind of the abbe to select him, the chevalier, as the proposed comforter! A new vista of possibilities unrolled itself. Unaided he would have gone on sympathetically sighing, but with the abbe's encouragement and active assistance, wonders might be accomplished. The latter was beaming on him now with bonhomie. Clearly he wished, fraternally, to see sister-in-law and brother happy, and imbued with the spirit of the times in which they lived, was doing his best to make them so. Warmly the chevalier blurted out his thanks. His brother was good and kind, as he always meant to be, though now and then so puzzling and strange. He would follow his instructions dutifully to the letter, and Gabrielle won, would be till death her slave. "That is well," assented the abbe with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You have beaten about the bush too long, instead of making straight for the goal. Women have sharp instincts, and since they require wooing, despise too bashful swains. This very night the coast shall be kept clear for you. The balmy autumn breeze is to love vows the softest of accompaniments. I will retain Clovis in his study with arguments about the prophet he reveres." The two jogged on in amicable silence, both equally satisfied, to all appearances, with the result of the conference, until the peaked turrets of Lorge frowned black against a primrose sunset. Then, before entering the courtyard, the abbe turned and whispered sternly, "A compact, mind, which you will break at your peril. Win or withdraw. Do not attempt to deceive me, for I never forgive deceit." CHAPTER VI. TEMPTATION.