No. The marquise had no intention of endeavouring to banish Phebus. Was he not of the same blood as Clovis and Pharamond, husband and friend? To the latter she owed much, and, being grateful, would strain many a point to avoid offending him. It was thanks to his intervention that the wheels had run of late more smoothly. Indeed, she might have come in time to accept the situation as it was, ceasing to wish for something better, but for the chevalier's inconvenient flame. Even as it was, there was no reason why the stream, disturbed for a moment, should not flow as smoothly as before, since Phebus, convinced of his mistake, ceased to be importunate. Enwrapt in a veil of reserve he studiously avoided a _tete-a-tete_ with her whom he had honoured with elephantine love-making. Impelled by these various considerations, Gabrielle replied, quietly, "No. I would not chase a man away because he loved me," and a look of exultation flashed over the abbe's features, which as quickly faded. Lorge in winter could scarcely be called a cheerful spot; yet, accustomed by gradual degrees to the still life of unbroken monotony, none of the party suggested a return to Paris. The chevalier wandered aimlessly, a solitary figure, the phantom of regret--and his energies seemed bent on equal avoidance of Gabrielle and Angelique. Clovis became more and more engrossed in his pursuits, and though he frequently discussed the proposed assistant, took no steps--lymphatic unpractical creature--to unearth an adept learned in mystic lore. It became his habit to join the family circle once a day, and on these occasions he grew almost genial under the skilled banter of his brother. Pharamond, a miracle of resource and ready usefulness, ferreted out curtains of thick silk from mouldering trunks, and made of the boudoir at the end of the suite quite a tempting and delightful nest. With heaps of cushions he arranged a species of divan about the fire, and stretched out at full length on it declaimed by the hour with nice emphasis the sparkling lines of Beaumarchais. Gabrielle did not quite take in the sense of all he read, but the voice was singularly sweet and soothing--so different from the groaning 'cello--and she grew accustomed as time went on to the singular expression in the eyes.