ainst him, and become his most
implacable enemy.

Was there no possible way of preventing a meeting between Valentine and
Gaston?

None that he could think of.

Their meeting would be his destruction.

Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of time. Daybreak
still found him sitting at the window with his face buried in his hands,
trying to come to some definite conclusion what he should say and do to
keep Gaston away from Paris.

"It is vain for me to think," he muttered. "The more I rack my brain,
the more confused it becomes. There is nothing to be done but gain time,
and wait for an opportunity."

The fall of the horse at Clameran was what Louis called "an
opportunity."

He closed the window, and, throwing himself upon the bed, was soon in a
sound sleep; being accustomed to danger, it never kept him awake.

At the breakfast-table, his calm, smiling face bore no traces of a
wakeful, anxious night.

He was in a gayer, more talkative mood than usual, and said he would
like to ride over the country, and visit the neighboring towns. Before
leaving the table, he had planned several excursions which were to take
place during the week.

He hoped to keep Gaston so amused and occupied, that he would forget all
about going to Paris in search of Valentine.

He thought that with time, and skilfully put objections, he could
dissuade his brother from seeking out his former love. He relied upon
being able to convince him that this absolutely unnecessary interview
would be painful to both, embarrassing to him, and dangerous to her.

As to the jewels, if Gaston persisted in claiming them, Louis could
safely offer to go and get them for him, as he had only to redeem them
from the pawnbroker.

But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds.

"You know," said Gaston, "I have written."

Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretended to be very much
surprised, and said:

"Written? To whom? Where? For what?"

"To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valentine's husband."

"You are still thinking of her?"

"She is never absent from my thoughts."

"You have not given up your idea of going to see her?"

"Of course not."

"Alas, Gaston! you forget that she whom you once loved is now the wife
of another, and possibly the mother of a large family. How do you know
that she will consent to see you? Why run the risk of destroying her
domestic happiness, and planting seeds of remor