"Come, come!" cried the abbe, cheerily; "what ails us all? Is the angel of death passing overhead? The weather is divine. Were we not to hunt to-day, starting from Montbazon, and is not the attractive Angelique anxiously awaiting Phebus? Air and exercise will brace our nerves. Clovis's wits want sharpening, and then, maybe, he will guess all about the bucket without further aid from Mesmer." Cloud or no cloud, there was no resisting Pharamond for long. His tact was infinite. Pretending to perceive that there was a tiff of some sort between the chevalier and the chatelaine, he ostentatiously interposed himself between them. No one was in the humour for the chase? Very well. No more was he. Phebus, whose one accomplishment was a knowledge of horseflesh, had business in the stables, which he would be good enough to see to. The other brothers would flutter around Gabrielle, who, established on her favourite seat in the moat-garden, would issue orders to her slaves. What? The hobby again? Really the prophet should be proud of a pupil so serious and earnest! Well, well. Would dear Gabrielle mind being left alone for a little? No? Then the brothers would take a stroll together, and perhaps the abbe would be converted. "If I am," the latter cried merrily, as linking his arm within that of the marquis, he led him away, "I shall turn myself to the conversion of Gabrielle. After that we will set our wits to work, arrange a magic tub, and all preside over it together." The magic tub! When the brothers returned from their walk, heated with discussion, the one was airy and serene, the other wofully cross. Gabrielle was sorely troubled by the change which she indistinctly felt. Why should Clovis be cross? The reason of the chevalier's sullenness, alas, she knew too well! The abbe was apparently much struck by the arguments of the neophyte, and wavered. Why, then, should Clovis be in a bad humour? And if Pharamond, the clever one, was well nigh convinced, who was she that she should doubt? There was nothing for it but to submit to the guidance of the abbe. Clovis shambled off to his study in a self-conscious and sheepish way, whereupon a sly smile spread over the face of Pharamond. "Do you know why our dear Clovis is in so villanous a humour?" he asked, glancing archly down at the marquise. "No, of course not. You would never guess. He wants something of you, and is afraid to ask, lest you refuse." "Afraid of me!" ejaculated Gabrielle, amazed. "Not quite that--but husbands do not like to ask favours and be refused."