"Madame must try and pardon this intrusion," began the abbé, meekly, "because it could not be avoided. I am here to speak, for my brother would not write, and it is rude not to answer a letter. Will madame be so courteous as to hear me out?" Gabrielle, after a moment's reflection, pointed to a seat, but Pharamond shook his head. "Madame does not accept me as a friend," he observed, drily, "so I have no desire to stay a moment more than I'm obliged." "A friend? Who has never done me anything but harm!" "Are we to discuss all that again?" he replied. "You have yourself admitted, more than once, that you owed much to me, and yet you compelled me by your own conduct reluctantly to withdraw what I had given." "You do well to remind me!" returned Gabrielle, swelling with contempt. "Your terms of peace were that your brother's wife was to become your mistress! You are right to stand. Say what you have to say, and quickly." "I have, in the first place, to point out to Madame la Marquise the result of her present course of action. Does a wife, think you, gain in the world's esteem by constantly insulting her husband?" "I have never insulted my husband." "Not by making a fool of him before all his class--by treating him like an ill-bred child, that may not be trusted? By driving him from beneath the roof which should be his?" "What?" ejaculated Gabrielle, amazed. "That is what you have done, and, believe me, the world will be against you, however plausible a tale you may invent." "Is he going away?" faltered the marquise, beginning to see the position in another light. "Is it probable that so proud a man would stay to be made the laughing-stock of all Touraine? Of course not. Beggary were better than such deep disgrace as that. His name is yours, and yet to your own shame you wilfully drag it in the mire. We are all going away, so you will have your chateau to yourself, and when we arrive in Paris it is you who will be the laughing-stock." "Going away! How will you all live?" asked the marquise, pondering. "Expelled from the home that should have been our brother's, the chevalier and I will return to Montpelier. The marquis will retreat to Spa, and take service with the mesmerists. He will be happy there in congenial society, for though very poor, he will be freed from dread of insult." Gabrielle was bewildered. She was being held up to herself in the most natural manner possible, as a tyrant, an insulter of the poor, in whom dwelt neither justice nor compassion. It was not true, she knew that right well; but perhaps without intent, she had been harsh. Yet no--with a remembrance of the crowning outrage of that woman's return, came renewed courage. The abbé concluded he had gained a point and followed it swiftly with another thrust.