Gabrielle was able apparently to read his white and vindictive visage. Without blenching, she observed, mournfully, "I spoke at random, when I said I dreaded you; what is there left for me to dread? I have passed along the stony path of the black valley of the shadow, and, thanks to you, nothing can affect me now. I defy you to do your worst. Having bereft me of children and husband, what is there left for me to bear? Whatever you may devise, I shall thank heaven for the burthen as a merciful atonement for my sin." "You scoff at my love and brave my hate!" returned the abbé, striving hard to control his voice. "You have finally refused the one, and for the first time shall know the other." "I despise both. To me you are more vile a reptile than the bloated hideous toad from which by instinct we recoil. Your poisonous breath infects the air; your vampire face insults God's image. In place of the abject thing which you call love, and which I rightly spurned, you offer hate? So much the better. As the more honest I accept it." "You have spoken your own sentence. A day will come when you shall sue for mercy and find none!" "Never! Go!" With a frown and a superb motion of her matchless arm, Gabrielle pointed at the door. In the excitement of indignation and defiance, the marquise was more beautiful than ever. Pharamond fairly writhed in his desire and his rage. She should be his--by force, if need be; but his--his! And after that, to revenge this scorn, he would fling her in the gutter to rot there! Stung to the quick--torn by ravening passions, evil both--the abbé bowed mechanically, and, scowling, left the room. If he had seen how swiftly she collapsed when the door closed, he might have hoped again, for she was a fragile creature, borne up by pride and a pure love that was beyond his sordid ken. "What will he do? What will he do?" she moaned, trembling, as she crouched down upon a seat. "What hideous form will his revenge take? Shall I implore the protection of my husband?"