mademoiselle," he replied with an intense earnestness which drew her gaze full upon him.
"Mademoiselle?" she repeated, after a pause, with a touch of coquetry. "Mademoiselle—from cousin to cousin?"
He started again uneasily, for the question put a fresh puzzle to him—how to address her. Then he put it by and asked—
"Why did you dread my coming, as you say?"
She first winced and bit her lip, and then, setting her head a little on one side, she glanced up at him with a mischievous smile.
"I once knew such a horrid Gerard de Cobalt; and if you had been like him, oh" the sentence ended in a shudder.
"What, another Gerard de Cobalt?" he asked mystified.
She laughed outright then, merrily and without restraint.
"As if you did not know. How could there be any other Gerard de Cobalt but you? You were a horrid boy, you know; really horrid; cruel, rough, unkind just for unkindness' sake. And you used to hate me—at least you said so; and I was glad of it."
"I must have been worse than unkind—a fool, I think, mademoiselle. Boys generally are," he replied laughing.
"Mademoiselle again?"
"What should I say?" he asked, growing bolder the deeper he allowed himself to plunge into the mystery, and getting less and less willing to have it cleared up.
"My name is Gabrielle," she said half shyly, "unless you think mademoiselle prettier."
"Gabrielle." He spoke the name in a soft tender tone with such a sweet reverence that she lowered her gaze and sighed.
"So I was a horrid boy, was I?" he asked lightly, breaking the pause. She looked up then all smiles.
