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Updated: May 11, 2025
Rapidly the jealous woman ransacked the pocket-book; started to see, elegantly worked with gold threads, in the lining, the words, "SOUVIENS TOI DE TA GABRIELLE;" no other letters, save the two, of which Jasper had vouchsafed to her but the glimpse.
Such was the result of the mission of the great Advocate and his colleague to Henry IV., from which so much had been hoped; and for anything useful accomplished, after such an expenditure of time, money, and eloquence, the whole transaction might have begun and ended in this touching interview with the beautiful Gabrielle.
Gabrielle thought Etienne handsome; she would have liked to stroke the velvet of his mantle, to touch the lace of his broad collar.
He took her hand and kissed it, and replied: "We are friends. Thank you, Gabrielle." Then he went out, still looking at her, and surprised that she was still so beautiful, and feeling a strange emotion arising in him, which was, perhaps, more formidable than antique and simple love.
Gabrielle murmured a half-frightened assent; and Sintram having quickly brought his harp, began to strike it loudly, and to sing these words with a voice no less powerful: "Sir knight, sir knight, oh! whither away With thy snow-white sail on the foaming spray?" Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers! "Too long have I trod upon ice and snow; I seek the bowers where roses blow."
In the blue evening, when flocks of starlings were already beginning to sweep the sky above the reedbeds of the lake, and white owls fluttered out like enormous moths, Gabrielle would walk out for a breath of cool air over the baked crevasses of the bog, or more often down their only road; a track that flattered the dignity of Roscarna at the lodge gates but degenerated as it approached Clonderriff.
Following the instincts of her thought, Gabrielle could either enter the solitude of a narrow space, seeing naught but the thick green and the blue of the sky above the tree-tops, or she could hover above a glorious prospect, letting her eyes follow those many-shaded green lines, from the brilliant colors of the foreground to the pure tones of the horizon on which they lost themselves, sometimes in the blue ocean of the atmosphere, sometimes in the cumuli that floated above it.
"He is not suffering any greater grief than I am," she said in a low, mechanical voice, her brow heavily clouded. "Of course I can quite understand that," he remarked sympathetically. "Walter is a good fellow, and well, it is indeed sad that matters should be as they are. He is entirely devoted to you, Gabrielle." "Not more so than I am to him," declared the girl quite frankly.
If it has not already reached you, you will shortly receive from Paris an order cancelling the lettre de cachet under which your prisoners Godefroid and Gabrielle have been detained.
No match for Gabrielle Desmarets, Matilda flung from the house, leaving Jasper whistling an air from Figaro; returned alone to the French town from which she now wrote to Caroline, pouring out her wrongs, and, without seeming sensible that Caroline had been wronged too, expressing her fear that her father might believe her an accomplice in Jasper's plot, and refuse her the means to live apart from the wretch; upon whom she heaped every epithet that just indignation could suggest to a feeble mind.
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