Pressure from all quarters to the same end. You have made your bed--make the best of it; accept the inevitable cheerfully. What the fates decree we fight against in vain. Unfortunate Gabrielle. Patience? Good heavens--how long-suffering was hers! And what had she gained by it? Rebuff. Persecution. Torture. Out of the labyrinth they had planted about her there were two exits. She might appeal to the marechal for protection, return to the shelter of his roof. But to let him learn that her life was shattered, that the marriage he had himself arranged had turned out so disastrously; it would break the old man's heart. The other passage? Through the gates of Death. No. That method of escape might not be employed either. What would the old man's feelings be if he discovered that she had been driven to suicide? And yet--to fall into the maw of the abbe. Never--never--never. Why not? Why should she care what happened? To her it mattered little now what chanced, bereft of all. Her father need never know. Perhaps, if she gave way they would in pity grant her peace? Sure she was going crazy. Peace? The peace of guilt? Peace where there was no peace? No--no. It should never come to that. CHAPTER X. THE MAGIC TUB. The abbe was a chameleon--bewildering in the abruptness of his changes. The carriage that returned from Montbazon was a chariot of triumph, and the abbe joined with vigour in the paeans of victory. He wished to leave a good impression, that his absence might be regretted. He was going on a tour of business and of pleasure; was determined to enjoy himself immensely--he, who as a provincial had rarely visited Paris. How delicious before he went, he declared with rapture, to have his mind relieved, to be assured that the magic tub was no fraud--Mesmer, a genius, not a charlatan! They must toast the prophet in bumpers of champagne. He insisted on it, and accordingly dragged the delighted Clovis from his study to join the circle at dinner. Clovis was quite another man. A gladness was in his eyes that transformed his glum visage, and Gabrielle sitting opposite wondered. In this mood, sure if she spoke, he would hearken. Was the case really hopeless? Was it, indeed, too late? Alack. It was evident that the abbe was playing a part, for now and again he glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that was full of meaning. The situation was bewildering. Like one who dreams she sat listening to the victorious duet, wherein the marquis and the governess took up their tale by turns.