“Stay with me.”

“Yes.”

The heavy step of Beauvouloir sounded in the adjoining room.  The doctor had seen these children at the window locked in each other’s arms, but he found them separated.  The purest love demands its mystery.

“This is not right, my child,” he said to Gabrielle, “to stay so late, and have no lights.”

“Why wrong?” she said; “you know we love each other, and he is master of the castle.”

“My children,” said Beauvouloir, “if you love each other, your happiness requires that you should marry and pass your lives together; but your marriage depends on the will of monseigneur the duke—­”

“My father has promised to gratify all my wishes,” cried Etienne eagerly, interrupting Beauvouloir.

“Write to him, monseigneur,” replied the doctor, and give me your letter that I may enclose it with one which I, myself, have just written.  Bertrand is to start at once and put these despatches into monseigneur’s own hand.  I have learned to-night that he is now in Rouen; he has brought the heiress of the house of Grandlieu with him, not, as I think, solely for himself.  If I listened to my presentiments, I should take Gabrielle away from here this very night.”

“Separate us?” cried Etienne, half fainting with distress and leaning on his love.

“Father!”

“Gabrielle,” said the physician, holding out to her a smelling-bottle which he took from a table signing to her to make Etienne inhale its contents,—­“Gabrielle, my knowledge of science tells me that Nature destined you for each other.  I meant to prepare monseigneur the duke for a marriage which will certainly offend his ideas, but the devil has already prejudiced him against it.  Etienne is Duc de Nivron, and you, my child, are the daughter of a poor doctor.”

“My father swore to contradict me in nothing,” said Etienne, calmly.

“He swore to me also to consent to all I might do in finding you a wife,” replied the doctor; “but suppose that he does not keep his promises?”

Etienne sat down, as if overcome.

“The sea was dark to-night,” he said, after a moment’s silence.

“If you could ride a horse, monseigneur,” said Beauvouloir, “I should tell you to fly with Gabrielle this very evening.  I know you both, and I know that any other marriage would be fatal to you.  The duke would certainly fling me into a dungeon and leave me there for the rest of my days when he heard of your flight; and I should die joyfully if my death secured your happiness.  But alas! to mount a horse would risk your life and that of Gabrielle.  We must face your father’s anger here.”

“Here!” repeated Etienne.

“We have been betrayed by some one in the chateau who has stirred your father’s wrath against us,” continued Beauvouloir.

“Let us throw ourselves together into the sea,” said Etienne to Gabrielle, leaning down to the ear of the young girl who was kneeling beside him.