have plenty of bread," remarked Therese, on whom the young man's gentleness, application and discretion had produced good effect.
"I shall never forget your kindness, madame," he said, about to excuse himself, when he caught the host's eye and guessed that it would offend him.
"I accept," he said.
He went up to his loft, with the bread and money.
"At last I am my own master," he said to himself, "or should be but for this bread, which is from charity."
Although hungry, he placed it on the window sill and did not touch it during the night, though famine made him remember it.
He woke up at daylight, but still he did not eat the bread. He took it up, though, and at five o'clock, went down and outdoors.
From suspicion, or merely to study his guest, Rousseau was on the lookout, and he followed the youth up the street.
A beggar coming up to Gilbert, he gave him the hunk of bread. Entering the baker's, he bought another roll.
"He is going into the eating-house," thought the watcher, "where the money will soon fly."
But Gilbert munched part of the roll while strolling; he washed down the rest at the public fountain, washed his hands and sauntered home.
"By my faith, I believe that I am happier than Diogenes and have found an honest man," thought Rousseau.
The day passed in uninterrupted labor. At even Gilbert had turned out seven pages of copy—if not elegant, faultless. He tested in his hand the money received for it with ardent satisfaction.
"You are my master," he said, "since I find work in your place and you give me lodgings gratis. I should therefore lay myself open to be badly thought of by you if I acted without consulting you."
"What," said Rousseau, frightened; "what are you going to do? Going off elsewhere to work?"
"No, only I want a holiday, with your leave, to-morrow."
"To idle?"
"No, to go to St. Denis to see the dauphiness arrive."
"I thought you scorned the pomps of this worldly show," said Rousseau. "I, though an obscure citizen, despised the invitation of these great people to be of the reception party."
Gilbert nodded approval.
"I am not philosophic," said he, "but I am discreet."
This word struck the tutor, who saw there was some mystery in this behavior, and he looked at the speaker with admiration.
"I am glad to see you have a motive."
"Yes, and one which does not resemble the curiosity of a man at a show."
"It is for the better, or for the worse, for your look is deep, young man, and I seek in it in vain for youthful calm and candor."
"I told you I was unfortunate," returned Gilbert; "and such have no youth."
"But at the hour when you are seeing all the pomps of society glitter before you, I shall open one of my herbariums and review the magnificence of nature."
"But would you not have turned your back on herbariums if you were going to see your sweetheart—the one to whom you tossed a bunch of cherries?"
"Quite true! And you are young. Go to the show, my boy. It is not ambition in him, but love," he commented when Gilbert had gone out gleefully.
Chapter XXX.
Old Patricians And New.
When the news spread of the royal splendor over the reception of the bride from Austria, the dreadful curiosity of the Parisians was sharpened, and they were to be seen flocking out to St. Denis by scores, hundreds and thousands.
Gilbert was lost in the multitude, but, seeing some urchins climb up in the trees, and the exercise being child's play to him, he clambered into a linn tree and perched on a bough to wait.
Half an hour after, drums beat, cannon thundered, and the majestic cathedral bell began to boom.
In the distance a shrill cry arose, but became full and more deep as it drew near. It made Gilbert prick up the ear and his whole body quiver.
"Long life to the king!"
It was the customary cheer.
A herd of horses, neighing under housings of gold and purple, swarmed on the highway; they were the royal household troops, guards, Swiss dragoons, musketeers and gendarmes.
Then a massive and magnificent coach loomed up.
Gilbert perceived a stately head under a hat, when all were uncovered, and a blue sash. He saw the royal glance, cold and penetrative, before which all bowed and heads were bared. Fascinated, intoxicated, panting and frozen, he forgot to lift his hat. A violent blow drew him from his ecstasy; his hat had been knocked off with the stroke of a soldier's halberd.
"I beg pardon," he stammered. "I am fresh from the country."
"Then learn that you must salute all the royal carriages, whoever may be in them," said the halberdier gruffly. "If you do not know the emblem of the lilyflower, I will teach you."
"You need not. I know," said Gilbert.
The royal equipages passed in a prolonged line. Gilbert gazed on them so intently that he seemed stupefied.
At the Royal Abbey doors they stopped successively to let the noblemen and ladies alight. These setting-down movements caused halts of a few minutes.
In one of them Gilbert felt a burning dart rush through his heart.
He was dazzled so that all was effaced in his sight, and so violent a shivering overwhelmed him that he was forced to catch at the branch not to tumble off.
Right in front of him, not ten paces off, in one of the vehicles with the lily brand which he had been advised to salute, he perceived the splendidly luminous face of Andrea Taverney; she was clad in white, like an angel or a ghost.
He uttered a faint outcry; but then, triumphing over the emotions which had mastered him together, he commanded his heart to cease to beat that he might look at the star.
Such was the young man's power over himself that he succeeded.
Wishful to learn why the horses had been reined in, Andrea leaned out, and, as her bright blue eyes traveled round, she caught sight of Gilbert and recognized him.
Gilbert suspected that she would be surprised and would inform her father of the discovery, as he sat next her.
He was not wrong, for Andrea called the baron's attention to the youth.
"Gilbert," said the
