The Grey Cloak

"I adore that race, the Pérignys," wrathfully. "Twenty times I had the

impulse to tell him who I am."

"But you did not. And what can he be doing here?"

"Doubtless he intends to become a Jesuit father: or he is here for the

purpose of taking his son back to France. Like the good parent he is,

he does not wait for the prodigal's return. He comes after him."

"Monsieur le Marquis was taken ill last night, so I understand."

"Ah! perhaps the prodigal scorned the fatted calf!"

"Yon are very bitter."

"I have been married four years; my freedom is become so large that I

know not what to do with it. Married four years, and every night upon

retiring I have locked the door of my bedchamber. And what is the

widow's portion? The menace of the block or imprisonment. I was a

lure to his political schemes, and I never knew it till too late.

Could I but find that paper! Writing is a dangerous and compromising

habit. I shall never use a pen again; not I. One signs a marriage

certificate or a death-warrant."

Anne crossed the room and put her arms round her companion, who

accepted the caress with moist eyes.

"You will have me weeping in a moment, Gabrielle," said Anne.

"Let us weep together, then; only I shall weep from pure rage."

"There is peace in the convent," murmured Anne.

"Peace is as the heart is; and mine shall never know peace. I have

been disillusioned too soon. I should go mad in a convent. Did I not

pass my youth in one,--to what end?"

"If only you loved a good man."

"Or even a man," whimsically. "Go on with the thought."

"The mere loving would make you happy."

Madame searched Anne's blue eyes. "Dear heart, are you not hiding

something from me? Your tone is so mournful. Can it be?" as if

suddenly illumined within.

"Can what be?" asked Anne, nervously.

"That you have left your heart in France."

"Oh, I have not left my heart in France, Gabrielle. Do you not feel it

beating against your own?"

"Who can he be?" musingly.

"Gabrielle, Gabrielle!" reproachfully.

"Very well, dear. If you have a secret I should be the last to force

it from you."

"See!" cried Anne, suddenly and eagerly; "there is Monsieur du Cévennes

and his friend coming up the path. Do you not think that there is

something manly about the Chevalier's head?"

"I will study it some day; that is, if I feel the desire."

"Do you really hate him?"

"Hate him? Faith, no; that would be admitting that he interested me."

The Chevalier and the poet carried axes. They had been laboring since

five o'clock that morning superintending the construction of a wharf.

In truth, they were well worth looking at: the boyishness of one and

the sober manliness of the other, the clear eyes, tanned skin, the

quick, strong limbs. The poet's eye was always roving, and he quickly

saw the two women in the window above.