Beauvouloir divined all.
"Monseigneur," he said, "your mind and your knowledge can make you
eloquent, and the force of your love may be irresistible. Declare it
to monseigneur the duke; you will thus confirm my letter. All is not
lost, I think. I love my daughter as well as you love her, and I shall
defend her."
Etienne shook his head.
"The sea was very dark to-night," he repeated.
"It was like a sheet of gold at our feet," said Gabrielle in a voice
of melody.
Etienne ordered lights, and sat down at a table to write to his
father. On one side of him knelt Gabrielle, silent, watching the words
he wrote, but not reading them; she read all on Etienne's forehead. On
his other side stood old Beauvouloir, whose jovial countenance was
deeply sad,--sad as that gloomy chamber where Etienne's mother died. A
secret voice cried to the doctor, "The fate of his mother awaits him!"
When the letter was written, Etienne held it out to the old man, who
hastened to give it to Bertrand. The old retainer's horse was waiting
in the courtyard, saddled; the man himself was ready.
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