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 Cevennes
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.
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