"A worse than useless gift," remarked Gabrielle, with conviction, "bestowed on us by nature in her most malicious mood. Happiness is given to the ugly ones." "At least they are saved the pang that accompanies the first wrinkle," asserted Pharamond. "You refer to Mademoiselle Brunelle, I suppose; our charming Aglae. She appears to be happy enough indeed. Those large women of stoutish build possess a power of assimilation--of selecting what is best, and chewing the cud of its enjoyment. Ages ago, before I appeared on the scene, you were discontented. Yes, you were, dear Gabrielle. It was my privilege then to bring back sunshine to this gloomy spot. You might have rewarded me but you were unkind. I did not complain, but endured your cruelty without a murmur. It was my solicitude that unwrinkled your rose-leaves. You might have rewarded me, I say, and you would not, and yet I bore no malice." A foreboding of new evil darkened around Gabrielle's heart. "Why refer to that episode that was condoned, and dead, and buried?" Without changing his attitude, the abbe pursued purringly-- "For those halcyon days you had me to thank--me only, remember that, and you could not be grateful. Ingratitude must be gently chidden, for it goes ill with beauty--as a mother gently chides a well-beloved one. I crumpled the leaves again, deliberately squeezed them into tiny roughnesses, that you might learn how much you owed me. I confess it was my doing. It was for your own good I did it." The marquise sat like stone. What was this new gulf slowly yawning--and she who looked to him for help! "Did you never guess that it was I? No? How singular. Your intellect works slowly. I never say what I don't mean, and I warned you, unless I mistake sadly, that it depended on yourself whether I was to be friend or foe. Does you memory serve you? Yes? So glad." "I had learned to trust you as a friend," murmured Gabrielle, huskily. "A dear friend on whom to lean in trouble. Alas--alas! my only one!" "Why, alas? You are, excuse me, so very foolish. As our sensible Aglae is so fond of saying, 'We do nothing for nothing in this world.' To sit at these dainty feet is in itself a privilege, but ardent men, made of hot flesh and blood, crave more. It's human nature to be grasping." "If you have mercy, peace!" implored the pale lady in growing terror.