As for Henri, despite his proved courage, the sensation that he experienced was beyond question fear; but at the humiliating thought he held his head erect, banished his first cowardly impulse, and made up his mind what to do. To call fur help would have been to show fear; to retire as he had come would have been to flee. He pursued his way toward the door, where Gabriel remained as if nailed to the spot. Moreover, a superior force, a sort of irresistible and fatal fascination, urged him on toward the pale phantom who seemed to be waiting for him. The perplexities of his destiny began to unfold themselves around him. Gabriel experienced a species of blind, instinctive satisfaction as he saw him approach; but still he could not succeed in evolving any distinct thought from the clouds that obscured his intellect. He simply laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. When the king was within a few steps of Gabriel, the personal dread which he had previously thrust away seized him anew, and held his heart fast, as it were in a vice. He said to himself in a vague way that his last hour had come, and that it was just. However, his step did not falter. His feet seemed to carry him along of their own accord, and independently of his own dazed will. It is thus that somnambulists go about. When he was directly in front of Gabriel, so that he could hear his quick breathing, and might touch him with his hand, he mechanically raised his hand to his velvet cap, and saluted the young count. Gabriel did not acknowledge the salute. He maintained his marble-like attitude; and his hand, like that of a graven image, never left his sword. In the king's eyes Gabriel was no longer a subject, but a messenger of God, before whom he must bow; while to Gabriel Henri was no longer a king, but a man, who had slain his father, and to whom he owed nothing but bitter hatred. However, he allowed him to pass without doing aught, and without a word. The king, on his part, did not move aside nor turn around nor express any feeling at such lack of respect. When the door had closed between the two men, and the charm was broken, each of them awoke, as it were, rubbed his eyes, and asked himself,-- "Was it not a dream?" Gabriel slowly left the Louvre. He did not regret the lost opportunity, nor did he repent that he had allowed it to escape him. He felt a sort of confused joy. "My prey is coming to me," he thought; "already he is fluttering around my nets, and getting within reach of my spear." He slept that night more soundly than he had done for a long while. The king, however, was not so tranquil. He went on to Diane's apartments, where she was expecting him, and welcomed him with such transports of delight as we can imagine.