"I vow," cried facetious Pharamond, "that our Gabrielle is growing delicate. She who was wont to be active objects to exercise. Decidedly, my Clovis, we must set the miraculous tub agoing for the benefit of your delightful wife." CHAPTER VIII. A NEW ARRIVAL. Our dear marquise--as you have realised ere this--satisfied the desire of the eye in all ways, for, combined with beauty of feature and of colour, was the suave sweetness of expression that is bred of the domestic virtues. Had she been an abbess the odour of her sanctity would have penetrated down to us in many a miraculous legend, and her carved simulacrum would have stood in many a niche and sculptured frieze along with those of other privileged young ladies. But she could not guide a husband who needed a bridle rein, neither could she decipher rebuses. The eccentric conduct of the versatile and too inflammable abbe completely mystified her. Why had he in the firelight resembled a satyr, to become in the morning so meek, and mild, and saint-like? Perhaps her prayers had been answered and, seeing the error of his ways, he had repented ere it was too late. It is disconcerting when an amorous and fervid swain inflicts burning kisses on your skin, and next day forgets the transgression. In the case of Pharamond a marvel must have been worked, for never by wink of eyelid did he attempt to recall his untoward proceedings during the storm. The episode was washed clean away by the snowdrift. He was alert, and lively, and amiable, as heretofore; always active in performing little services, inventing some new comfort or pleasure, rallying the dull, sympathizing with the weary. He knew better than to sit glum and mumchance like the chevalier. Betrayed into error, he had accepted rebuff like a gentleman, and by a marked increase of respect was trying to win forgiveness. This was quite as it should be, and there was no more to be said. And so, the clouds that threatened being dissipated, the months of winter rolled away in so uniform a sequence that their glassy flow seemed as if it must run for ever. The marquis, influenced probably by his repentant brother, was amiable enough. The two talked Mesmer all day long; formed plans for mutual assistance: held lengthy conferences in the study, which always had, now the satisfying result of improving Clovis's temper. The first primrose had just emerged from its bed when the abbe announced one day the portentous fact that the marquis was packing his valise. "Packing his valise! Tired of the dulness of Lorge?" Gabrielle felt a tinge of sadness at the thought. Why not have let things be? If there was to be a change, would it be for better or worse? "How silly you are!" observed Clovis, cheerfully, remarking her wistful look. "Are we limpets glued to a rock? I am about to make a little journey, quite a short one--the effect of which in the future may transfigure the countenance of earth."