“Ask her,” rather sharply.

“She is worthy of a man’s love?”

“Worthy!” Victor half rose from his chair.  “Worthy of being loved?  Yes, Paul, she is worthy.  But are you sure that you love her?”

“I have loved her for two years.”

“Two years,” repeated the poet.  “She is a strange woman.”

“But you know her!”

“Yes, I know her; as we know a name and the name of a history.”

“She comes from a good family?”

Victor laughed mirthlessly.  “Oh, yes!”

“Do you know why she is here?”

“I thought I did, but I have found that I am as ignorant as yourself.”

“There is a mad humor in me to-day.  Wish me good luck and bid me be gone.”

“Good luck to you, Paul; good luck to you, comrade.”  And Victor’s smile, if forced, was none the less affectionate.

“And luck to your ode, my good poet.  I go to find me a nosegay.”

And when he was gone, Victor remained motionless in his chair.  Two years!  Ah, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, was that quite fair?  He thought of all the old days, and a great wave of bitterness rushed over him.  He no longer heard the blackbird.  The quill fell from his fingers, and he laid his head upon his arms.

“I am tired,” was all he said.

The Chevalier wended his way toward the Ursulines.  His heart beat furiously.  Sometimes his feet dragged, or again they flew, according to the fall or rise of his courage.  The sight of a petticoat sent him into a cold chill.  He tramped here and there, in all places where he thought possibly she might be found.  Half the time he caught himself walking on tiptoe, for no reason whatever.  Dared he inquire for her, send a fictitious note enticing her forth from her room?  No, he dared do neither; he must prowl around, waiting and watching for his opportunity.  Would she laugh, be indignant, storm or weep?  Heaven only knew!  To attack her suddenly, without giving her time to rally her forces,—­formidable forces of wit and sarcasm!—­therein lay his hope.

“What a coward a woman can make of a man!  I have known this woman two years; I have danced and dined with her, made love, and here I can scarce breathe!  I am lost if she sees me in this condition, or finds a weak spot.  How I love her, love her!  I have kissed the air she leaves in passing by.  Oh!  I will solve this enchanting mystery.  I have the right now; I am rich, and young.”

It will be seen that the gods favor those who go forward.

By the wall of the Ursulines stood a rustic bench, and upon this bench sat madame.  She was waiting for Anne, who was paying her usual morning devotions under the guidance of the Mother Superior.  Madame was not very busy with her eyes, and the jeweled miniature which she held in her hand seemed no longer to attract her.  The odor of rose and heliotrope pervaded the gently stirring air.  From the convent garden came the melting lilt of the golden oriole.  By and by madame’s gaze returned to the miniature.  For a brief space poppies burned in her cheeks and the seed smoldered in her eyes.  Then, as if the circlet of gold and gems was distasteful to her sight, she hastily thrust it into the bosom of her gown.  Madame had not slept well of late; there were shadows under her lovely eyes.