Gabrielle spent much of her time in reflection, wondering how it was that she should be so lamentably misunderstood. The only one who could read her aright was Abbe Pharamond, and yet there were points in his behaviour which perplexed the simple lady. He was kind and sympathetic now as he invariably was; but a change might be detected in his manner, which was a difference, though so slight a one that a man would scarce have noticed it. He loved to recline at her feet reciting poetry or reading classic prose--a course of improving literature, he called it, for the storing of a magazine that was somewhat empty; and in intervals of rest she would find his steely eyes fixed steadily on her with a peculiar expression that was half pity. Warming under his ever-ready sympathy she confided to him one day the shocking details of a certain evening on the river, and was unaccountably pained and disappointed at the way he treated the disclosure. In the butterfly clergy of Paris--steeped to the lips in vice--such a view would be natural and consistent; but that Pharamond, self-elected friend and Mentor, should display so little indignation and proper principle was distressing. Instead of being shocked at the escapade of Phebus, he laughed outright, and remarked lightly, "Of course, the poor donkey fell in love with you. He must, indeed, be a figure-head of wood who could resist such charms, and I should be sorry to find a brother of mine to be made of timber. Command me. Am I not your champion? Shall I rush forth and spit the simpleton for his temerity?" Clearly this was not the spirit in which a son of Mother Church should receive the news of a brother-in-law's declaration, and Gabrielle declared as much to her trusted counsellor. "Half-brother-in-law," interrupted the latter, admiring his oval nails. "It is all the same--equally wrong." "Oh, dear no! Excuse me, but it takes two halves to make a whole!" This light method of dealing with so grave a subject savoured of flippant levity; added to which distressful fact, the abbe, taking advantage of Gabrielle's troubled silence, had sidled closer, and was peering up through half-closed lids with an admiring scrutiny which made her vaguely uncomfortable. "The heart is independent of the will," he whispered, absently, "and we should not be blamed for its vagaries! You could not like the fellow? Of course, you could not: he is fat and foolish; and I a dolt to ask so vain a question. Before we are aware of it our hearts are given, and the gift may not be cancelled. A platitude, is it not? Does not that same platitude show that Love is Fate--that where he wills he lights, always a conqueror? Who shall punish us for bending before the tyrant?" "What can you mean?" inquired the marquise, startled. "Say," inquired the abbe. "Despite trivial drawbacks, we are all happy here together, are we not? As to Phebus, what is your decree? Because a man loved you, you would not chase him hence? That were unduly harsh."