"We have a remedy at hand," wheezed the amorous chevalier. "It is as balmy as a summer's night, and winter will soon be upon us. Put on a hood and scarf, and let me row you for an hour on the river." CHAPTER VII. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY. The family did not meet again till the next day at the hour of second _dejeuner_, and an intangible cloud appeared to have fallen on the party. There was something like suspicion in the manner of those who yesterday were so trustingly united. The chevalier, sulky and silent, would not raise his eyes from his plate. The liveliest sallies of the abbe fell dismally flat, for even Gabrielle was so pre-occupied that she could not summon a smile. Her beautiful face was grave and sad, and bore trace of recent tears, while the brow of the marquis wore a frown, as if he had heard bad news. Indeed, a proposition had been placed before him yesternight, or, rather, dropped carelessly, which startled and annoyed him. In course of their _tete-a-tete_ over the plans, Pharamond had said, "If I were you I would be careful not to offend madame, for she, not you, is master." It had never occurred to him before to see things in this light, and yet it was undoubtedly true. She had never stood between him and his desires, but it was not pleasant to be reminded that she might be led to do so some day. And from the conversation--as it chanced--a wavering idea had become in his mind a fixed resolve. The introduction of an adept into the household had been the happiest thought on the part of Pharamond, but--provoking fellow that he was--no sooner had he made the suggestion than he proceeded to nip it in the bud. For when Clovis would fain have enlarged upon the topic, the abbe had retorted with a demure headshake: "I made a mistake, and I am sorry. Your wife believes no more in Mesmer than I do--less--and, taking offence, might complain to old de Breze of the introduction into _his_ house of a pack of needy jugglers." If she did it would be awkward and insulting to her husband. Would she be capable of so unwifely a proceeding? Surely not. The abbe, who was a compendium of wise maxims, remarked that it would be better not to try her--to let sleeping dogs lie. Perhaps he was right, but the pill presented to the lips of Clovis was bitter, with a new and acrid taste. Glancing round the breakfast-table, the spirits of Pharamond went up, and he rubbed his hands with satisfaction. No need to ask simple Phebus how he had fared last night? Failure was written on his face! In the minds of all three who sat around him a tiny germ was working. So far all was well; but the _menage_ must not be permitted to fall back into the doldrums.