Diane was startled; and her eyes, which had hardly got used to the darkness, did not detect Gabriel at first. "Did some one call me?" she said. "Who is it?" "I," Gabriel replied, as if Medea's monosyllable were enough to reveal his identity to her. In good sooth it was; for Diane, without pursuing her inquiries any further, rejoined in a voice trembling with feeling and surprise:-- "You, Monsieur d'Exmès! Is it really you? And what do you want of me in this place and at this hour? If, as I have been told, you bring me news of the king my father, you have delayed it long, and you have chosen place and time very ill; if not, you know that there is nothing I can listen to from you, and nothing I want to hear. Well, Monsieur d'Exmès, you do not reply. Do you not understand me? You say nothing? What does this silence mean, Gabriel?" "'Gabriel!' It is well with us, then!" cried the youth. "I made no reply, Diane, because your cold words froze my blood, and because I hadn't the strength to call you 'Madame,' as you called me 'Monsieur.'" "Do not call me 'Madame,' and call me 'Diane' no more. Madame de Castro is no longer here. It is Sister Bénie who stands before you. Call me 'sister,' and I will call you my brother." "What! What do you say?" cried Gabriel, recoiling in terror. "I call you my sister! Why in God's name do you ask me to call you my sister?" "Why, it is the name by which every one knows me now," said Diane. "Is it such a terrible name, pray?" "Yes, yes, indeed it is! Or rather, no! Forgive me; I am mad. It is a lovely and dear name. I will accustom myself to it, Diane; I will accustom myself to it--my sister." "You must," Diane responded with a sad smile. "Besides, it is the real Christian title which will be suitable for me henceforth; for although I have not yet taken the vows, I am even now a nun at heart, and I soon shall be one in fact, I hope, when I shall have obtained the king's consent. Do you bring me that consent, my brother?" "Oh!" exclaimed Gabriel, in a tone wherein reproach and grief were mingled. "_Mon Dieu_!" said Diane, "there is not the least bitterness in my words, I assure you. I have suffered so much recently among men that I have naturally sought shelter with God. It is not anger which rules my actions and my words, but sorrow." Indeed, there was in Diane's speech an accent that told of sadness and suffering; and yet in her heart that sadness was mingled with an involuntary joy which she could not conceal at the sight of Gabriel, whom she had long ago believed to be lost to her love and to the world, and whom she found to-day vigorous and manly, and, it might be, still fond of her. And so, without wishing, almost without knowing it, she had descended two or three steps, and drawn on by an invincible power, had come so much nearer to Gabriel.