“I can answer that, frankly. I have known him many years, and can say
that until within the last few days, never. We passed through the place
in coming here.”

“Then is the puzzle inscrutable!” exclaimed Lucette. Denys had told
her of the murder at Cambrai, the pardon for which was part of the
price to be paid to de Cobalt, and had spoken of a letter which he had
found that put the thing plainly. He had been in the act of telling her
where the paper was concealed, that she might get it and carry it to
Gabrielle, when the relapse had prevented further speech.

“I know not what to do,” she cried, in sore perplexity and distress.
“If I trust you, others are sadly misled. And yet I believe you have
not deceived me.”

“On my honour I have spoken no more than the truth,” said Pascal
earnestly. He was as much puzzled as Lucette herself. “If you would
deal with me frankly, and say----”

“I cannot; I cannot,” she broke in excitedly.

“Then may I suggest you speak to M. de Cobalt?”

“You know not what you say. But the matter must be probed to the
bottom;” and afraid to say more she left him and hurried back to Denys’
bedside.

Pascal looked after her, nodded once or twice in answer to his
thoughts, and then, with a quizzical smile, muttered, as he turned back
to his room--

“Now is the devil about to claim some of his dues for this mad
business. I must find Gerard and tell him.”

They had scarcely parted when the face of the spy Jacques Dauban peeped
cautiously round an angle of the wall. Seeing the way was clear he
came on with stealthy noiseless tread, chuckling slyly to himself as
he rubbed his hands together. He paused just a moment to listen at the
door through which Pascal had gone, and then passed on toward the room
where Denys lay.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PLOT THICKENS

Meanwhile Gerard himself, without any help from Pascal’s misadventure,
was finding enough embarrassments to tax his wit and resourcefulness.

De Proballe, anxious that Gerard should have the fullest opportunities
to push his suit with Gabrielle, soon made an excuse to leave them
together. He pleaded that he must send to the Governor to arrange for
the interview between him and Gerard, and left them--a move that was
not without its embarrassment to Gerard, since Gabrielle promptly took
advantage of it to carry the conversation back to the point where it
had been interrupted in the gardens.

“You have something important to tell me, Gerard, I know. You were
about to tell me when my uncle came to us. But first, I have to make a
confession and to ask your pardon.”

“I am no priest, I fear,” he said, meeting her smiling gaze.

“But this is a wrong done to you. When I was thinking over all we said
to-day--and I have thought of nothing else since--I remembered to my
shame, that I had never given you even a word of thanks for your help
yesterday, and again to-day.”

“Please say nothing of it.”

“Oh, but you must have thought me a very miser of my gratitude. And
I am not that. Indeed, indeed, I do thank you from the bottom of my
heart,” she cried, warmly, her eyes on his face.

“Do you think I need more reward than the knowledge that it was you
whom I could help? When I saw you yesterday, my heart leapt, and I
vowed----”

“Well?” she asked, as he paused; and when he still hesitated, checked
by the thought that he had no right to speak thus while the truth of
his position was still unexplained, she added, with a little frown and
a very winsome smile, “you break off at most irritating points, cousin.”

“I vowed myself to your service for good or ill,” he said deliberately.

“Take care what you say, cousin. Did you know who I was?”

“Not then, indeed.”

“Then was that surely a most dangerous vow.”

“How?”

She laughed merrily. “Supposing it had not been Gabrielle to whom you
thus rashly vowed yourself; what would you have done?”

“I had not thought of it. No other woman would have drawn such a vow
from me.”

“You turn words well--so well that I could almost be afraid of your
skill. Shall we go out on the terrace? The evening air is lovely. Tell
me,” she said, as they walked, “how came you to be playing trespasser
so opportunely to-day in Malincourt. It has puzzled me.”

“If I tell the truth, I was lurking in the wood, hoping to catch a
sight of you again.”

“You had learnt who this lady of your vow was by that time, then?”

“Else I had not been in Malincourt,” he answered, without thinking.

She glanced at him quickly, her face wrinkled with this fresh puzzle.

“Is not that a worse puzzle?” she asked. “Knowing who I was, why not
have come straight to the maison?”

“Of course, I might have done so,” he replied. He saw the slip then
clearly enough, and tried to cover it with a laugh. “Perhaps I ought to
have come.”

“But you did not. Why? I do not mind that you did not, but why should
you choose so strange a course?”

“What answer can I give, save it was a whim?”

“You would have seen me sooner had you come and would not have been
one whit less welcome; and would in truth have saved me some hours of
anxiety. Do you know that, yesterday, I sent high and low in search of
you; and only this morning my poor Denys went riding out to Beaucamp on
a veritable wild-goose chase to find you?”

Gerard smiled. “Did you at the time know who I was?” he asked.

“Should I have sent away from Morvaix to find you, had I known?”

“Then you, too, were not without interest in a stranger?”

“It is not a fair hit,” she laughed. “I would not have had even a
stranger think me an ingrate for such service.”

“Then it was merely to thank me, you wished.”

“Gerard!” and she let her eyes drop to the ground.

“I should like to think that before you heard my name to-day, you----”
He commenced in great earnestness, but checked himself again.

“Some day I will tell you,” she replied in a low tone, after a pause;
and then, in a tone as low, he asked--

“And what if I had been other than Gerard de Cobalt?”

“Thank God, it was not so,” she cried, with a little shiver and a sigh.

“Why, Gabrielle?” He had his own strong reason for pressing the
question.

For a time she kept her head bowed and remained silent; but then
raising her eyes to him frankly and trustfully she said--

“I think I should like to tell you. You will not think shame of me.
I fear I could never have been Gerard de Cobalt’s wife. All night I
wrestled with the problem, and prayed fervently for strength to do
my duty, and keep the pledge made for me by my parents. But when I
knew Gerard de Cobalt would come to-day, I dreaded to meet him. Can
you not guess why?” She was all blushes and sweetness as the faltered
confession dropped from her lips.

“You cannot think what this means to me,” he answered with passion.
“But some day you will understand.”

“Why not now, Gerard? I have betrayed all my little secret--little, do
I say--if you but knew how great, how all in all it is to me! I have
shown you all my heart,” she whispered.

They were leaning on the marble balustrade, gazing over the lovely
gardens which the risen moon was silvering with her glory.

“Why not now, Gerard?” she repeated, after a long pause, with sweet,
gentle insistence. “What need of secrets between us two?”

He longed to respond to this frank confession of her feelings by
telling her everything; and the impulse to speak was only curbed
with great effort. But prudence stayed him, and the fear of unknown
consequences which might imperil everything by forcing a disclosure to
de Proballe.

“We will have no secrets one from the other, Gabrielle, when once this
matter in my thoughts has been cleared up,” he said, his reluctance to
refuse her plea causing him to speak with hesitation.

“Is it the same of which you spoke to-day so strangely?”

“The same, yes.”

“But you were going to tell me--then.” Her pause before the word,
and emphasis in speaking it, did not escape him. But even the subtle
temptation implied in the sweet accent did not prevail.

“Yes, I was going to tell you. If I do not, you trust me?”

“Gerard, of course. I should trust you always. But--I am only a woman,
and--curious,” she added, with a tender smile of reproachful invitation.

“And if I assure you it is for your own sake that I hold this back, you
will bear with me?”

“For my sake? Now in truth you increase my perplexity, and do but
whet my appetite. How can it be for my sake? You said to-day that it
concerned the very purpose of your coming here; and when I spoke of
that purpose as I knew it--our marriage, Gerard--you started back as if
in alarm or overwhelming surprise. You pained me so that I was leaving
you in anger.”

“The pain was greater on my side than yours, Gabrielle.”

“And then you suggested you had been led to deceive me in some strange
way: I should not believe that, indeed; and, as if impelled by some
sudden thought, you were about to tell me everything. And then my uncle
came, and you whispered hurriedly that what you had to say was for my
ears alone. Are we not alone now?” she asked with witching pressure;
and she smiled tenderly, as she added: “You see I remember every word
you said. Indeed, I could never forget them; but I cannot understand”;
and she shook her head as if the puzzle were all beyond her solving.

“If you but trust me, what else can matter?” he answered, at a loss how
to meet her.

“Nothing, nothing now,” she cried joyfully, moving a little closer to
him so that her shoulder was against his. “Chide me if I seem too
persistent. I have had so much of my own way in my life that I must be
getting self-willed, I think. But don’t make the chiding too harsh,
Gerard. And do not keep me too long with this secret between us; I
think I shall grow jealous of it. And--another condition,” she laughed:
“Do not tell any one before you tell me. I could not bear that.”

“You are even harder to resist when you yield, Gabrielle, than when you
plead, I fear.”

“Am I? Then I will yield that I may plead. But I will wait your time.
Of course I will. It is such delight to me to find you what you are,
that all else is nothing. Besides, it is the first request you have
made to me, and I should be a churl to refuse it. I did not think of
that, and could be angry with myself for having forgotten it. I would
not hear you now, if you were to offer to tell me.” Her laugh at this
was as that of a child in its pure delight.

“I am almost constrained to tempt you,” he said, laughing in his turn.

“Nay, I have put my curiosity away--about that, but I have plenty left
about you and your life and all you have done to change you from that
boy Gerard whom I knew.”

“I am very different from him, I trust. I have been a soldier since the
time I was big enough to shoulder a musket.”

“And have fought? Tell me, tell me. Where and with whom? I love to hear
of brave deeds. I am a soldier’s daughter, you know.”

“I have been a courier of fortune, as all younger sons must be, and
have carried arms under the Bourbons.”

“We Malincourts, too, claim to be of the Bourbon blood; but--how do you
mean--a younger son? I had not heard you had ever a brother, Gerard.”

“All soldiers have brothers-in-arms,” he replied, hastily, and with
some confusion. “I have had my own way to push--to prove that I was
worthy to lead.”

“Yes, yes. And you have proved that long since, I am confident. But
tell me of the fighting. Oh, I would that I had been a man to bear my
part as a soldier!”

“That had been hard on me, Gabrielle.”

“True enough, too. And for that I am glad I am only a woman,” she
said, gently, nestling yet closer to him. And having thus led her on
to the safe topic of his career as a soldier, he told her many of his
experiences. She listened eagerly to his story, hanging on his words in
rare delight, until he broke off, remembering that he was to see the
Governor that night.

“I am forgetting--I could forget all in your company. But M. de
Proballe has arranged that I see the Duke to-night. I had best seek
him.”

“You must be careful with the Governor, Gerard.”

“Why? I do not fear him.”

“He is all-powerful here in Morvaix. You saw what passed in the market
place yesterday. He is a man of iron.”

“Yet what harm can he do me?”

“He is bad to the heart’s core. His wife is my one intimate friend in
Morvaix, an honourable, God-fearing woman, who has suffered unspeakable
sorrows at his hands in her life. She is now bed-ridden, poor soul; and
we have spoken freely together of the Duke.”

“He is a tyrant--that I have learnt.”

“And many worse things, I fear. I would not willingly speak ill of any
man, but to you I should speak freely. He has but too well merited
the term men give him--the Tiger of Morvaix. Could the grim walls and
torture chambers of his castle bear witness against him, fearsome
truths indeed would come to light.”

“Tell me of them.”

“Nay, not to-night. To-night we will not speak of Morvaix horrors;
rather let us hope that from to-night, from your coming, Gerard, better
times will dawn for the city and the unfortunate citizens. The Duke
is a hard, harsh, cruel man, who tolerates but one principle of rule:
blind implicit obedience to his will, to be enforced by any measure of
cruelty, however violent and harsh. He has ground down the people until
the yoke has become intolerable; and yet there seems no remedy. I sent
tidings privately to the Duke of Bourbon, as Suzerain of the province,
praying him to come or send aid to us before the people should be
driven to open rebellion. But no one comes, no one heeds; and we must
work out our own rescue. I have a faint hope indeed, that matters will
mend.”

“How?”

“I saw the Duke to-day, and urged him to relax the severity of his
rule--to take off this last cruel impost on the people’s food, for one
thing; and he half promised, making his consent contingent on some
sacrifice from me. God knows there is nothing I would not give in such
a cause. I would strip myself of all my possessions--even of Malincourt
itself, dearly as I love every stone of the old maison. But I hold the
welfare of the people dearer. He would not name the condition, however,
leaving it to me to do so. And I know not what he wishes.”

Gerard’s face grew dark with anger as he listened, knowing full well
from de Proballe’s words what the condition was.

“We shall together find the means, Gabrielle,” he said earnestly. “My
hand and oath on that; and my life the forfeit if I fail.”

“You will help me in this,” she cried, joyfully and eagerly. “Oh,
Gerard, did I not say to-day how glad I was that you had come! What
great issues now depend on you. With you to help me, a strong man at
Malincourt, to oppose the castle; not violently I mean, but with
the strength of all the people’s sympathy behind us, what may we not
achieve? But when you see the Duke, be wary of him; give him no cause
present offence that we may be the stronger in the future.”

“Does any one but you know that you sent to Bourbon for help? Your
uncle, for instance?”

“No. I told no one; not even him. I deemed him too intimate with the
Governor. He would not wittingly betray me, I know, for he has often
spoken to me in sorrow of the Duke’s government. You like him, Gerard?”

“I have seen but little of him; but I have indeed found him blunt in
speaking of facts,” was the cautious reply, drily spoken.

A footstep on the terrace disturbed them. It was Pascal.

“I was seeking you, monsieur, to know if you have any other commands
for me,” he said aloud in a respectful tone, adding in a whisper, as
they stood apart: “I must speak to you at once. There’s a devil of a
mess.”

“Wait but a minute,” whispered Gerard; and then aloud: “I will you see
directly, good Pascal. It is my faithful fellow in some trouble about
me, Gabrielle.”

“Then let us go in. Ah, here is Lucette,” she added, as Lucette,
looking very troubled, came out of the maison. “How is Denys, Lucette?”

“He was better for some time, but the fever seems to have come back
upon him. The surgeon has seen him again, and given him a potion, and
he is now asleep.”

“He should be carefully watched all night, never left for a moment,”
declared Gerard quickly, remembering de Proballe’s threatening words.
“You will see to this, mademoiselle.”

“The surgeon says he will sleep until the morning, and will need no
more till then,” answered Lucette.

“Let him be watched. At need I, or Pascal here, will remain by his
bedside.”

“By your leave, monsieur, that were not well;” and Lucette spoke so
sharply that all looked at her.

“What mean you, Lucette?” asked Gabrielle.

“Denys has, for causes that may be plain afterward, conceived a violent
dislike toward Monsieur de Cobalt; and if he woke and found him by the
bedside, it might be very ill indeed.”

“But I have never set eyes on him until to-day, mademoiselle.”

“It is probably no more than a sick man’s fancy,” said Gabrielle.

“It may be so; yet it is very strong upon him, and he talks wildly and
almost at random.”

“I fear his wound is more serious than you deemed, Gerard,” declared
Gabrielle.

“It is the more reason for what I have urged--that he be watched
closely and never left. His life itself may hang upon it.”

“I will see that it is done,” agreed Gabrielle readily.

“That what is done?” It was de Proballe who asked the question, coming
out of the house in time to catch the last words.

“My poor Denys is very ill, it seems, uncle, and Gerard has just been
saying that he should be watched ceaselessly.”

“Poor fellow,” he replied in a compassionate tone; and then with an
upcast glance at Gerard he asked: “And why do you think he should be
watched so closely?”

“I have had some skill in sword-wounds, monsieur, and Mademoiselle
Lucette here says he has been talking wildly. When delirium follows
such a wound as his there is every need for care.”

It was an adroit answer, for it satisfied de Proballe and also bore
out what he had said before. But Lucette’s eyes were very keen, and
knowing all she did, she was watching closely enough to catch de
Proballe’s glance of meaning as he answered--

“You are right then, Gerard. I will see to this, Gabrielle. Denys is
too good a fellow for us to run any risks with. My man, Jacques Dauban,
has had some training in surgery, and would gladly keep such a vigil.”

Lucette bit her lip and cast down her eyes.

“I think we need not trouble Master Dauban or cause him to lose a
night’s rest,” she said. “My maid and I can watch, monsieur.”

“Ever kind and considerate, Lucette,” said de Proballe. “Well, we can
see to it, as Gabrielle says. And now, Gerard, I have a word for your
ear about the Governor. He cannot receive you to-night.”

“I am sorry; but to-morrow will do for me.”

“What is this about Denys?” asked de Proballe, eagerly, when Gabrielle
and Lucette had left them. “You should not have urged that watching. If
the man is alive to-morrow, everything may be ruined. What has he said
to Lucette there?”

“Indeed, I neither know nor care.”

“Are you mad?”

“To-night, perhaps yes; sanity may come in the morning. I have been
talking long and earnestly with Gabrielle, and her purity and innocence
may have maddened me. If that be so, it is sweet madness.”

“Psh. Spare me such cant. Would you ruin everything? We are men with
work to do, not fools to stuff our minds with folly.”

“Nor villains to murder sick men. If harm should come to Denys I
should never forgive myself--nor you, monsieur; and I should hold you
responsible.”

“Then you do not wish this marriage?”

“Not if the path to it be cold-blooded murder, Monsieur de Proballe.”

“Does it lie in your mouth to speak of murder, after Cambrai? But your
head is turned because you find your cousin has a pretty face; and if
it is not to be turned next on the headsman’s block, you will cease
this folly.”

“So it was held to be murder at Cambrai?”

“You try my patience beyond endurance. See to it that you have more
reason in the morning; and that you may find it, I will give you
something to ponder in the night. I have talked with the Duke to-night,
and found him with another plan half-fledged in his thoughts; and if
ever it gets full-feathered you may look to yourself.”

“He seems a man quick at hatching schemes. I fear neither him nor them.”

“Fool! Do you dream to oppose him? He is now half-minded to divorce his
Duchess and make Gabrielle his wife. He finds that he stands higher in
the favour of the Cardinal Archbishop than he deemed; his Eminence has
sent him a hundred fighting men for his army; and he now thinks he can
secure a dispensation to put away his wife. He is childless, and she a
bed-ridden invalid; and the Church might not willingly see so noble a
line as his extinct. If you do not hurry to make Gabrielle your wife,
I would not answer for your head. Ponder that to-night, and mouth of
sweet madness in the morning, if you have any mind left for such folly.”

Waiting for no reply, de Proballe turned on his heel and entered the
house; and as Gerard was gazing after him, Pascal approached and
touched him on the arm.

“Of all the diabolical villains--What is it, man?” he broke off
impatiently.

“What’s the use of wasting breath in that way when there are things to
be done? This precious maison is like a nest of spies. I’ve been found
out for an impostor by that pretty sharp-eyed girl whose lover lies
wounded upstairs; and I was wondering how to get to you to tell you
when I came on some sneaking whelp of a man with his ear jammed to the
door of the chamber where she was watching.”

“Did you break his head for him?”

“Nearly; but I did better. I played spy in my turn; and your honest man
can beat a rogue at his own trade when he tries, even when that trade
is spying. Presently the rascal went to the door of the apartments
where we are to lie, and, after listening and waiting, he knocked, at
first gently, and then more boldly, and finding no one within, entered,
and I caught him ransacking among our baggage. Holy Peter! but he cut a
sorry figure when he saw me peeping round the door at him;” and Pascal
laughed.

“What did you do? I hope you were discreet.”

“I first knocked him down and drubbed him soundly, and then tied him up
with a roll of cloth for his supper, and locked him in a cupboard. Then
I came for you that we may try him together.”

“Who is he?”

“I gave him no time to say. But come, or he may be smothered--for I’m a
novice with the gag--and in that case we shall get nothing out of him;
which would be a pity.”

“It’s a curious turn,” said Gerard uneasily, as they hurried away
together.

CHAPTER IX

WHAT DENYS KNEW

Pascal was all laughter and sallies as he led the way up to their
apartments, but Gerard was in no such mood. He was very serious and
full of misgivings at the course things were taking. There were
more than enough complications in the position already without the
additional embarrassment of the bestowal of a prisoner.

It was not without some sense of relief, therefore, that he saw Pascal
start as he entered the room, and heard him exclaim in a tone of
dismay--

“The sly devil has wriggled out, Gerard. By my shroud, I had not deemed
it possible. I put him in there and shot the bolt upon him”; and he
pointed to an empty closet.

“Never mind. Perhaps it is best so,” answered Gerard with a smile. “An
honest man can’t always beat a rogue at his own trade, it seems.”

“Aye, laugh away; but he’ll not laugh if ever I set eyes on him again,
the sneaking mongrel.”

“For not waiting for your return, you mean? He knows his business, at
any rate.”

“Aye, that’s certain; but the point is how much he knows of yours?”
retorted Pascal. “I’ll forgive him for knowing his own, but he shall
pay the price for meddling in mine. Were I not a fool I had mounted
guard over him and waited for you to come here.”

“Are you sure he was spying upon us?”

“Am I sure that we are on a queer quest here? Who can have turned him
on to such a scent?”

“I should suspect de Proballe, were it not that he knows all my
supposed unsavoury history as the real de Cobalt.”

“He has no suspicion that you are not?”

“Not that I can think.”

“Then it must be the girl who questioned me and said I was no
servant--Mdlle. de Boisdegarde,” suggested Pascal, with a shrewd nod of
the head. “I mind me now. Are you supposed to have done some ugly thing
at Cambrai? She questioned me on the point.”

“Yes, a something which de Proballe spells murder, and for which I am
to be pardoned.”

“A thousand devils! I gave her my word of honour you had never been
there, except as we passed through the place on our way here.”

“How can she have got wind of it?” and Gerard pursed his lips
thoughtfully. “Wait, wait. I see. De Proballe told me this good fellow
Denys had his suspicions. He has told her. Phew!” he whistled. “The
plot thickens.”

“It’s thick enough already to be a very devil’s pie of complication,”
laughed Pascal. “I suppose, as usual you will listen to no counsel of
prudence.”

“Prudence, from Pascal de la Tour?” and Gerard laughed in his turn.

“Nay, for myself I care nothing. Let come what may it’s all welcome, so
long as there be but some fun in it. But your life is valuable. Would
it not be wise to give up this de Cobalt business, leave Morvaix, and
return as yourself with the troops from Cambrai?”

Gerard thought a moment, and then with another smile answered--

“You have seen for yourself how a certain matter stands. Were you in my
place, would you act on your own counsel?”

“Not I, on my soul. If there are two ways to an end, I would choose
that which has the more spice in it, and devil take the danger. But you
and I stand on different footings, Gerard, and I would not so counsel
you.”

“Counsel or no counsel, I stay, Pascal. We will have the troops up when
the need calls for them. But I will follow the spirit of your advice.
I’ll write to my cousin d’Alembert, at Cambrai, bidding him be prepared
to march hither at an hour’s notice; and to-morrow early you must find
means to despatch a messenger to him. Then seek out Dubois, and tell
him to keep in close touch with the hundred we brought into the city
as monks, so as to assemble them at any moment. Do you know how the
hundred we played at presenting to this Governor have been bestowed?”

“That was a shrewd step,” answered Pascal, with a laugh. “They are
enrolled among the castle guards, in accordance with the suggestion
Dubois handed on from his Eminence--yourself, Gerard. Pray Heaven, they
do but keep discreet tongues. They are tough fighters, and every man
would gladly give his life for you; but like soldiers, they love their
liquor.”

“To-morrow, or at any rate the day following, should see all in
readiness for us to act. Now let me write my letter--a task I loathe.”

While Gerard wrote, Pascal left the room, wishful in case of
emergencies to learn his way better about the great house, and he came
back just as the seal was set to the paper.

“Gerard, that sharp-eyed beauty, Mdlle. Lucette, wishes a word with
you. I met her on the watch in the corridor as I returned.”

Gerard went out to her.

“May I put a question to you, M. de Cobalt?” was how she met him.

“Certainly, mademoiselle. Can I help you? You look sorely troubled.”

“Gabrielle trusts you so implicitly, monsieur, and ’twas she bade me
ask you. Will you tell me why you were so anxious that Denys St. Jean
should be watched so jealously?”

“I gave my reasons, mademoiselle. When fever and delirium follow loss
of blood from a sword-thrust there must always be risk to the patient.”

“There is no delirium, monsieur. When Denys spoke of you, he was
perfectly calm and clear. At first, that is, and until his excitement
grew. But what he said of you was said collectedly.”

“But the fever is on him, and therefore he should not be left,” said
Gerard calmly.

She made a quick gesture of impatience.

“Can you not answer me frankly, monsieur? Oh, pardon me, but I am in
such distress. You have some other reasons. I saw the look that passed
between you and M. de Proballe.”

“Would you ask me to interpret for you all M. de Proballe’s looks, and
to explain all you may have thought in your excitement?” and he smiled.

“Denys is so hot against you, and makes such charges.”

“Should I warn you to set a watch over him if I myself were minded to
do him any harm for that? In all honest truth, I care not what he may
either think or say.”

“But he declares----”

“By your leave, I would rather not hear what he says except from his
own lips. I shall know how to answer him.”

She lifted her hands despairingly and was turning away, when a further
question occurred to her. “On your honour, monsieur, you have no other
reason for this watching than what you have said?”

“That is a question which I would rather that you did not put to me.”

“But we trust you so,” she cried reproachfully.

He smiled again. “Then do as I have suggested.”

“Oh, what a mystery is all this;” she exclaimed, and left him.

“One word more, mademoiselle,” he said, following her a couple of
paces. “We are soldiers and accustomed to long watches and little
sleep. One of us will be on the watch out here in the corridor for the
night.”

She made no reply; and Gerard, going back to Pascal, told him what he
proposed: that they two should watch in turns through the night.

“I hope that rat will come stealing back,” said Pascal. “If I don’t
pinch his throat for him, may my fingers forget the feel of a man’s
wizen;” and he agreed readily to take the first spell.

The rat did come back, more than once; but so cunningly and softly now,
so warily and so keen of scent for the watchers, that neither Gerard
nor Pascal knew of his coming; and in the morning both agreed that
they had kept their vigil to no purpose. Could they have heard the
report which Dauban gave to his master, however, they would have known
otherwise.

De Proballe was ill at ease, indeed. He did not like the attitude which
Gerard had adopted. He had looked for a pliant tool, afraid of his
life; and he found instead, a man who showed independence and firmness,
who had a will of his own, and who both said and did things that made
against his plans.

For his purpose it was not by any means enough that Gerard should
succeed in making a good impression on Gabrielle. That was right, so
far as it went; but Gerard seemed to be captivated by her beauty; and
that was altogether wrong. If there was to be love between them, the
whole scheme might be jeopardised; and with it would go his own more
daring and ambitious plans.

Were Gerard to marry Gabrielle and then turn against him, no one could
foresee the consequences. The blundering interference in regard to
Denys was unaccountable; and the manner in which he had flinched
from the necessary step of dealing with one whose knowledge was so
dangerous, was profoundly disturbing. It was enough to rouse the wrath
of any one; and when Dauban brought word that a watch was actually
being kept which rendered it impossible even to get to the door of the
room, his perplexity equalled his ill-temper.

He had his own standards of judging men; and he could only come now to
the conclusion that Gerard was in some way playing for his own hand.
This thought kept him in a ferment of speculation the whole night.

Seeing Gerard in the gardens early, he went down to him, resolved to
have an explanation.

“I want a word with you, Gerard,” he said, bluntly. “We must understand
one another, or this thing goes no farther.”

Gerard had gone out early in the hope of seeing Gabrielle, and was
anything but pleased to have de Proballe’s company instead; nor did he
at all relish the peremptory tone in which de Proballe spoke. Thus his
answer was sharp and curt.

“What is there we do not understand, monsieur?”

“In the first place, you must understand that as I am the author of
this marriage scheme, you must work for it as I direct, or it must come
to an end.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so; and you had better know it. I first thought of it; I
found the proofs of her parents’ wishes to lay before Gabrielle; and
what I made I can as easily unmake again. I have but to speak a word
and the bubble will burst.”

“Then it was a lie, M. de Proballe?” asked Gerard coldly and incisively.

“A lie, as you know perfectly well; one in which you have already
taken part, and which you have come here in person to continue to
the end. It is useless for us to play like children at pretences. In
your letters to me you have expressed your willingness to put yourself
entirely in my hands, to do precisely what I tell you. Now, will you do
it? If you will not, say so.”

“My memory for such matters is short, monsieur, and in regard to all
such communications I am as if I had never penned them”; replied
Gerard, after a moment’s pause.

“Then it is as I thought. You have some scheme of your own to further.
What is it?” De Proballe was furious at the answer.

“If it be my own, as you suggest, should I be likely to disclose it to
you?”

“You do not deny it?”

“I do not admit your right to question me.”

“Do you intend to marry Gabrielle?”

“Without a doubt, if she will deign to marry me.”

“Then why did you set a watch outside that babbler’s door all through
the night?”

“How do you know that I did?”

“No matter. I know it, and that is enough.”

“I was right, then, in thinking you would choose the night for your
work. I set the watch, monsieur, because I had no mind to be a party to
your murderous scheme.”

“You will repent this attitude.”

“Very likely. Most of us spend our lives in either committing one
blunder or repenting others.”

“You tempt me to deem my act a blunder indeed in bringing you to
Morvaix.”

“That may be part of the better understanding, the reference to which
opened our conversation. Need we say any more?”

“Before the day is done you may understand better,” cried de Proballe,
furiously.

“Shall we leave it, then, for the coming hours to decide?” retorted
Gerard, lightly and without more he turned his back and walked away.

De Proballe returned to the house more uneasy and more wrathful than
ever. He seemed to see his schemes crumbling to pieces before his eyes,
and to be unable to avert the ruin. He had built so much on Gerard’s
coming that he was loath now to carry his fears to the Governor, and
thus stop the marriage altogether; and yet it was plain that if this
was to be Gerard’s attitude when he had married Gabrielle and was
master of Malincourt, the very marriage itself might but make matters
worse than they were at present.

He could not see what private scheme Gerard could have in reserve; and
came at length to think that the success with Gabrielle had so turned
Gerard’s head that he believed himself master of the situation. From
this delusion it would not be difficult to rouse him, however. A word
or two from the Duke that his life was in danger would soon cure this
swashbuckler mood; and such a word he could instigate at any moment. He
could therefore safely let matters run their course for the present.

In this temper he awaited the hour fixed for Gerard’s interview
with the Governor; but early in the forenoon the latter arrived at
Malincourt; and de Proballe found him in a dangerous temper.

“We were to wait upon you at the Castle, Duke,” he said, suavely.

“Am I not welcome at Malincourt?”

“You can need no assurance from me, I trust, that your presence here is
an honour and a welcome condescension.”

“Umph!” and the Governor shrugged his shoulders. “Where is Mdlle. de
Malincourt?”

“I have not seen my niece this morning. I will have her sent for.”

“No, that is not my wish. Where is your villainous jackal, de Cobalt?
News has reached me that he made much impression upon your niece
yesterday. Is that so? Speak plainly.”

“He came as her betrothed, and he has done as we would have him do,
seeing the purpose in hand.”

“I have my doubts about this affair after all,” was the answer, with
a heavy frown. “It will not suit me that he win too far into her good
graces. The thing has cost me a sleepless night of thought, and I have
come now that I may see them together, myself unseen, and hear them
speak one to the other, that I may judge how matters go. You will
arrange this. I am consumed with a cursed gnawing plague of jealousy.”

“You will of course understand----”

“I will understand nothing but that you must do as I say.”

De Proballe spread out his hands and was about to expostulate again,
when the Duke cut him short, and said very sternly--

“Will you do as I say, M. le Baron, or must I find some other way?”

“It shall be as you please. The best plan I can conceive is that we
remain hidden here where we can watch any one on the terrace, and I
will send word to de Cobalt that the hour is close at hand when he is
to accompany me to the Castle, and ask him to wait me on the terrace.
Then I can send for Gabrielle, and get her there.”

“Give the instructions in my presence.”

“Monsieur le Duc!” exclaimed de Proballe, in a tone of indignation.

“Monsieur le Baron!” He imitated de Proballe’s tone, and then laughed
coarsely. “I can trust my own ears, and mean to have no warning
conveyed to either of them.”

De Proballe started and bit his lip. He had contemplated doing the
very thing the Duke insinuated, and was bitterly vexed his thought
should have been read. For a moment they faced each other, and then
de Proballe with a shrug of his shoulders turned to obey. But at that
instant the Duke caught sight of Gerard and Gabrielle strolling in the
gardens, and frowned.

“There is no need to summon any one. I see them. You will remain with
me, monsieur.”

Standing back well out of sight, the Duke watched the two lovers with
intent gaze, his expression changing gradually from eager scrutiny to
one of jealous anger, and the heavy frown deepened every moment, till
at last he burst out into angry speech.

“God of Heaven! it is even worse than the worst I feared. See how
they linger together over the flowers; how she smiles to him, and he
answers.”

“He does but play his part, Duke.”

“If that be play, then never saw I earnest. And she, how her face
lights as he speaks to her; her colour deepens as she droops her head
at his words. See how she lays her hand tenderly on his arm; and he,
how he stoops over her hand and raises it to his lips, and she--by the
God that made us all, she loves him. Look at the light in her eyes.”

“He is our man, my lord, and sows but for us to reap.”

“’Twill be a bitter crop for some of us, or I am no ruler in Morvaix.
’Twas not for this we sent for him. And you say they never met till
yesterday?”

“Till yesterday.”

The Duke turned from the window, and paced the room with quick angry
strides, his face black as night and his eyes blazing with hot jealous
rage. De Proballe watched him stealthily, wondering what this new
dangerous mood portended.

“They are coming to the terrace,” he said at length; and the two
watchers concealed themselves close by the open casement.

The lovers approached, all unsuspecting that keen vengeful eyes were
bent upon them from under the strained pent brows of a man half mad
with jealous frenzy. And a handsome picture they made as they came up
the broad steps laughing gaily in the sweet abandonment of new-found
all-trusting love.

Gabrielle held in one hand the kerchief with which she had at first
covered her head, and in the other was a posy of freshly plucked
flowers, from which she had chosen a red rose to give to Gerard. Her
face was radiant with smiles and her eyes glowed as she turned them
ever and again upon her handsome lover by her side. At the head of the
steps she stayed and leant in a graceful pose against the marble pillar
on which stood the statue of a fantastically carved faun.

“And must you really go now to the Castle?” she asked.

“M. de Proballe named this hour, Gabrielle.”

“I am loath for you to go, cousin; yet could wish you gone that I may
look for your return, and long for it.”

“You do not think I leave you willingly?”

A tender glance was the answer, and at the sight of it the angry man
within the room close by drew in his breath sharply as if in pain.

“I believe I shall count the minutes till you return,” she said. “Am I
not foolish? But your coming has changed my world.”

“If it be foolishness, then it is good to be foolish,” returned Gerard.

“You will be careful with the Duke, remembering what I have told you,
Gerard.”

“I have to think of you, Gabrielle, and the thought will inspire me to
caution.”

“I would I could be present. Not that I doubt you; maybe,” she smiled,
“it is only because I do not like to be parted from you.”

“The minutes will be no less leaden to me while I am away;” and again
they smiled each to the other with such a glance that the Duke could
endure no more.

“This must end,” he whispered fiercely. “I will bear no more;” and he
was moving impetuously when de Proballe stayed him and whispered in
reply--

“I beg you have patience, my lord. He is but adopting my suggestion and
wooing her that the marriage may take place the sooner.”

“Then he must find some other way. It is hell to me.”

“Stay; some one comes. By all the saints in heaven, it is Denys!”

He was walking with difficulty, and leaning on Lucette’s arm for
support.

“It is he who knows something of our plans, my lord, and should have
been silenced by your men yesterday. He must be stopped, or he will
poison her ears against him.”

But the Duke, catching eagerly at the words, laid a strong hand on de
Proballe’s arm and held him as he whispered in tense accents--

“Let him do it, and I will thank him. Stay, monsieur, I order you.”

In dire consternation de Proballe, now much agitated, fell back to his
place, and both were again silent.

“Denys, Denys, what madness is it that brings you from your sick bed
thus?” cried Gabrielle, in surprise and some alarm for him. “You are
risking your life.”

“It is no madness, mademoiselle, and my life would be cheaply spent in
such a case,” answered Denys, speaking with great labour and seeming
even to breathe with difficulty.

“I could not stay him, Gabrielle,” said Lucette, in response to
Gabrielle’s look of reproach.

“You would not come to me when I sent for you, mademoiselle,” said
Denys slowly, when he had found breath. “So I came to you.”

“I could not come then, and did but delay, good Denys. But what is this
matter that could not wait?”

“That man is the matter--Gerard de Cobalt. I know the truth of his
coming hither and his treachery, and not another hour was to be lost
before I told you.”

“Denys! How dare you speak thus? You presume upon my good will. It was
M. de Cobalt who saved your life yesterday.”

“Would God I had lost it rather than that it should be saved by him. As
Heaven is my witness, I speak but the truth when I say he is a villain;
and I can and will prove my words by his own testimony.”

A moment’s tense silence followed this fierce accusation; and in it the
Duke whispered under his breath--

“It grows interesting. I hope he will make good his words. He is an
honest sturdy fellow, and looks as earnest as he is sincere. A good
witness, and welcome.”

CHAPTER X

THE ACCUSATION

To Gerard the turn of events was profoundly disturbing. He had heard
from both Lucette and de Proballe that Denys had suspicions of the
reasons which were supposed to have brought him to Morvaix, and knew
something of the unsavoury past of the man whose name he had taken;
and to have all this blurted out to Gabrielle might have very ugly
consequences.

Almost any other moment would have been less inopportune, as it seemed;
and he would have given much to be able to silence his accuser. Yet he
could not appear to shun the charge or shrink from any proofs which
Denys had obtained: could do nothing in fact. It was the irony of the
thing that the very interference which he would have welcomed at the
fitting moment should be so embarrassing now.

Gabrielle had, however, only one thought. To her it seemed treachery
even to listen further to the accusation. She was very angry, and her
face mantled with colour.

“You have been a faithful friend to me, Denys,” she said, “and are ill
with your wound. Were it otherwise, your present act would part us.
There is no place in Malincourt, or in my service, for any one who
maligns my friends. Lucette, it pains me that you are in this. Gerard,
will you take me into the house?”

But Gerard’s honour and instincts of fairness forbade acquiescence in
this unjust rebuke.

“Nay, Gabrielle, I believe you are too hard upon M. St. Jean and upon
Mdlle. Lucette as well. It is but his zeal for you that makes him
indiscreet.”

“The fool, the fool!” muttered de Proballe. “When she would have shut
her own ears to the truth.”

“You hear M. de Cobalt, Denys. Take lesson by his generosity. Go back
to your chamber, and when you are well, in mind and body both, I will
hear you. Lucette, see to this.” She spoke with all the dignity of one
who meant to be obeyed.

“I have no power to prevail with him, Gabrielle. He urged me first to
come with this story to you, and when I would not, rose from his bed
and insisted on seeking you for himself.”

Denys appeared to be almost spent with his effort. He stood leaning
against the parapet in such desperate straits that Gabrielle was
touched with deep compassion.

“I am passing, I think,” he said. His face was deadly grey as he clung
to the marble with one hand while with the other he felt for a paper
and drew it out. He seemed so near collapse that Gerard stepped forward
to help him; but anger rallied him and he waved away the proffered help
with a gesture of contempt.

“Pray God he falls before he can do more mischief, the meddling dog!”
muttered de Proballe again.

“Lead him away, Lucette,” said Gabrielle, in pain at the sight. But
Denys would not go; and after an effort he said slowly with much effort
and many a pause--

“My last strength can have no better use than in this for you,
mademoiselle. This letter--from M. de Cobalt to M. de Proballe. Read
it, for the love of God, read it.”

“Denys, Denys, how can you ask such unworthiness?” cried Gabrielle
indignantly, her eyes and voice full of reproach. “If it be M. de
Cobalt’s letter, give it to him. Would you have me imitate you and play
the spy?”

“Speak not so harshly, Gabrielle,” exclaimed Lucette.

But Denys stopped her and spoke again, moving a step toward Gabrielle.

“He would marry you but to betray you to the Duke. ’Tis my last word.
He says it here.” Holding the letter in his now trembling fingers he
made a great effort to reach Gabrielle with it, his staring eyes fixed
earnestly and imploringly upon her. But his fever-racked strength was
gone. “For God’s sake be warned,” he mumbled half-incoherently. It was
his last effort. As the words dropped from his lips, he fell prone
to the ground, the letter fluttering from his nerveless fingers to
Gabrielle’s feet.

Lucette with a cry knelt beside him.

Gabrielle had shrunk from his approach, but now stood gazing down on
him, pity, pain and distress in her eyes. And Gerard stooped and felt
his heart.

“He has but fainted,” he said, looking up. “Let him be carried back to
the bed he should never have left. He is a noble faithful fellow and
has freely risked his life for what he deems the truth.”

“Good, Gerard! Splendidly played. Did you mark that, my lord?”
whispered de Proballe, intensely relieved at Denys’ collapse. “What
an actor the villain is, Duke? Said I not he was but acting with
Gabrielle? You could swear that tone of his was a note of honourable
innocence.”

But the Duke made no reply. He was staring with pent gloomy brows at
the scene.

“You bear him no grudge for this, Gerard?” said Gabrielle with a smile
of confidence.

“Should I feel enmity to one whose only motive was desire to serve you
and who has drawn this further proof of your trust in me? He did and
said no more than he deemed both right and true. I honour him for his
courage.”

“Then I will tear the letter that appears to have cheated his fevered
wits, and so end the matter;” and picking up the paper she was about to
tear it when he stopped her.

“Fool! Idiot! Now indeed he goes too far;” muttered de Proballe, as he
saw the gesture. “Let her tear it.”

Gerard had the strongest reasons for not having the letter destroyed,
however. It was the proof he needed to make de Proballe’s guilt clear.

“I should not destroy it, Gabrielle. There must be much behind this
which we do not yet understand; and if it is to be cleared, this letter
may be needed.”

“’Tis but the delusion born of fever madness.”

“Men do not forge letters in delirium,” answered Gerard quietly.

“You would not have me read it!” Gabrielle’s eyes were wide with
astonishment.

“What will the fool do next?” murmured de Proballe, in deep agitation.
“Is he aiming this at me?”

Gerard paused a moment to think, and then answered calmly and firmly.

“Yes, I would have you read it.”

“But it is designed to slander you.”

“I am too sure of your trust to fear any slander, Gabrielle. I would
have you read it, whatever it be.”

“By the Cross! he plays a bold hand,” muttered the Duke, drawing his
breath. “What is in the letter?”

“It will ruin everything,” whispered de Proballe.

“Then do I not understand him. He must indeed be sure of her, as he
says;” and his frown grew deeper than before.

Gabrielle stood fingering the letter in hesitation some moments and
then unfolded it.

“I will do your bidding, Gerard, although I had rather not.” She read
it then.

  “TO M. LE BARON DE PROBALLE,--

  “The messenger has brought me your last communication and the sum
  of money I asked for. My doubts are almost satisfied. I have some
  troublesome matters to arrange, and some little time must pass before
  they can be settled. But you can count upon my reaching Malincourt by
  the end of June or the first days of July, if in response to this you
  send me a declaration under the Duke de Rochelle’s own hand that I
  shall receive his pardon for the affair at Cambrai. You must procure
  this; as without it I shall not trust myself within his province.

  “You require me to state my acceptance of your proposal specifically.
  I now do this. I will marry Gabrielle. She shall never learn from me
  that her parents never expressed any such wish for our marriage as
  she has been told. I will use my utmost efforts to compel her, if
  need be, to submit to the Duke’s wishes. And I will act in every way
  faithfully as you may direct in any other plans you have.

  “The fortune I shall receive with Gabrielle will be all I need--that
  and the pardon; for I seek no Court position, favour, or influence.

  “Send me the written assurance of the pardon, and by the time the
  messenger can return hither, I may be ready to set out myself.

                                                     “GERARD DE COBALT.”

“By the God above us all, what callous infamy!” exclaimed Gerard,
passionately, stirred to the depths by the letter, whose full meaning
he well understood. But it was otherwise with Gabrielle, who saw in it
no more than an attempt to slander him; and she mistook his burning
words for indignation at the effort to ruin him in her eyes.

“Infamy indeed,” she said warmly. “Would that I knew the author of so
vile a slander! If I thought for a moment that Denys----”

“No, no, Gabrielle. Don’t even speak such a thought,” cried Lucette.

“I had forgotten him,” said Gerard. “I will help bear him into the
house. We will deal with this afterwards, Gabrielle.”

“Except to find the villain who forged the letter, there is no more to
do in it, Gerard. They little know me who think I could be moved by so
contemptible a lie. I could ask your pardon for having read it to the
end--could almost be vexed with you, indeed, for having caused me to
read it. Shall I tear it now?”

He was bending over Denys and looked up quickly. “No, I will keep it;
and some one some day shall pay a heavy reckoning,” he answered as he
took it. Then with Lucette’s help he lifted Denys and took him into
the house. Gabrielle was following, when the Duke said hurriedly to de
Proballe--

“Go and detain her on the terrace. I must speak with her; but first
will think a space. I am on the rack.”

He had been profoundly moved by the scene and was intensely agitated.
He had let the letter be read without interference--involving though
it did both de Proballe and himself--in the belief that the revelation
of Gerard’s baseness would change her feelings; and the unshaken
confidence she had shown in Gerard’s honour was to his jealousy as
biting acid to an open wound.

With a bitterness beyond words to describe and far too galling for his
selfish soul to endure, he saw now that in causing Gerard to be brought
to Morvaix for his own purpose with Gabrielle, he had but plunged a
sword into his own heart. The villain had played his part so well that
he had won her love; and the wound burned and stabbed and maddened him
with its pain.

But he would have his revenge. No man should be suffered to come
between him and his desires. If this de Cobalt had won her love, he
should pay the price. His rival’s life lay in the palm of his hand; and
in Morvaix at least there was none to step between him and the object
of his hate.

It was a treacherous betrayal; nothing else. Pretending to keep
the letter of his pledge, Gerard had broken the spirit, and should
be trusted no more. The pardon for the murder at Cambrai should be
withheld, unless--and his eyes gleamed dangerously at a fresh thought
and he smiled with a cunning pleasure.

Gabrielle loved this de Cobalt; and the love would put a weapon in his
hands powerful enough to break her to his purpose.

His new resolve was quick to take shape. She should be his wife; and
the price of her consent should be her new lover’s life. The old scheme
should be laid away; and with it would go at a stroke all need for de
Cobalt’s services. His next move was soon decided; and he stepped out
and joined Gabrielle and her uncle.

“I make no apology for thus breaking upon you suddenly, because the
reason for it is your own welfare,” he began, speaking deliberately.

“I trust your lordship does not deem an apology necessary for visiting
Malincourt,” replied Gabrielle, courteously, but wondering at his
manner.

“This is no ordinary visit of courtesy, mademoiselle; and if the manner
of it is unusual and displeasing, as it may well be, the purpose will,
I hope, prove its excuse. We have been close observers of the scene
which has just occurred here--as M. de Proballe has perhaps told you.”
But de Proballe had done nothing of the kind, and he started in some
dismay at the words. His start was lost by Gabrielle, however, in her
intense surprise.

“Observers, my lord? I fear I do not understand,” she replied with
dignity.

“Yet my words explain my meaning. Very evil intelligence has reached me
concerning this M. de Cobalt; and in my zeal for your welfare I came
this morning to confer with M. de Proballe; and we arranged the scene
that this man’s character might be tested openly.”

“I should prefer that M. de Cobalt be present, my lord.” Gabrielle took
fire instantly, and she made no attempt to disguise her indignation.

“It is not necessary. His presence or absence is a matter of no
concern. What you have heard of him to-day and read in that letter of
his is true.”

“Do you mean----” she began hastily, then checked herself and said
proudly: “But I will not deign to ask a question. Your lordship must
be entirely in error. I have unbounded faith in M. de Cobalt’s honour.
It is a matter your lordship must excuse my declining to discuss.” The
Duke frowned, but repressed his anger.

“I can understand your feelings,” he said calmly. “Would that the man
were worthy of it! I honour you for this attitude and would gladly
spare you the pain which the truth must cause you; but it must be told,
mademoiselle.”

Gabrielle would not answer, and the Duke turned to de Proballe.

“You will tell your niece, monsieur, that that letter was written to
you by M. de Cobalt himself in reply to others from you to him.”

“I think you and I had better discuss this further,” said de Proballe,
in a desperate shift at the new position.

“It is my wish, monsieur,” replied the Duke coldly, with a glance of
menace.

“Even my uncle himself will not shake my confidence in M. de Cobalt,
although he may change my feelings toward himself,” declared Gabrielle,
firmly.

“M. de Proballe,” said the Duke.

“I know not your intentions,” he answered, in a fever of disquiet.
“I--I scarcely heard what the letter contained; and--and before I
can say so much I--ought to see it--to examine it.” He stumbled and
hesitated over the words.

“Do I understand, M. le Baron, that you give me the lie?” and the
cold cutting words were accompanied by a look that no one could
misunderstand.

“God forfend; but I wash my hands of the whole affair,” he cried, with
a gesture of profound agitation and a sigh. “It is true, Gabrielle.
The letter was written by Gerard to me some time since. It is one of
several that have passed between us.”

“I do not believe it;” and Gabrielle drew herself up in proud
repudiation of the further attack upon the man she loved and trusted.

“On my honour it is so, mademoiselle,” declared the Duke. “And now I
must make my confession of the part I have played in this. It is no
humour of mine to seek others’ forgiveness, but for what I have done in
all this distressful error, I do beg yours. It was at my instance that
this de Cobalt was brought to Morvaix.”

“Then do I thank you, my lord, and, believe me, I see nothing in the
act which calls for forgiveness,” interposed Gabrielle swiftly, as
he paused. He took no notice of the interruption; he was too deeply
engrossed in thinking how to put his case most plausibly.

“My motive you will at least admit was worthy--it was the good of the
people of Morvaix. Next to myself, the House of Malincourt is the most
potent influence here, and thus the subject of your marriage has given
me much thought. It would have been a disaster had you fallen under the
sway of some unworthy man and been prevailed upon to marry him, and so
let the influence of your house pass into evil hands. To prevent this,
we--for your uncle has shared my views and acted with me throughout--we
planned to arrange your marriage with a man who would place himself
under our guidance in all matters.”

“And your lordship and you, monsieur, chose a man whose life was so
evil--if this lying letter were to be credited--that he only dared to
come hither when he had been assured under your lordship’s own hand of
a pardon for some foul offence. Surely you would not have me credit
this of you! I do not. I will not. For it involves a cruel slander upon
my true and gallant cousin.”

“What the Duke says is true in every word, Gabrielle,” declared de
Proballe, much relieved at the astute line the Governor was taking.

“We did not know the evil history of this man,” continued the Duke in
the same quiet deliberate tone; “or he would never have been brought
here. I have but learned it within the last few hours. The affair
at Cambrai was mistold to us; and I have but just gathered the full
details of what I find to have been a foul and most treacherous murder.”

A contemptuous smile of disbelief was Gabrielle’s only answer to this;
but it was more eloquent than many words of her unshaken and unshakable
faith in Gerard. The Duke paused, and after a moment resumed--

“We had heard that he had repented of his old excesses and wrong
living, and when we sent for him, believed this to be the case. But
when we found that his repentance was but acted lying--in which he is
an adept--there seemed no course open but to put him to the proof by
confronting him with his own writing, so that your eyes might be opened
and yourself convinced of the impossibility of a marriage with him.”

“I have yet to be convinced, my lord; and know no power or means on
earth strong enough to convince me. My parents’ wishes----”

“Were but M. de Proballe’s invention, mademoiselle,” interposed the
Duke, in the same cold deliberate tone. “The story was designed to
influence you to agree. That is all. In that we did wrong--grievous
wrong, no doubt; for deceit with whatever motive used must always be
wrong; and in this case it has ended disastrously. For that, as well as
for the pain which, with all zeal for your real welfare, I have caused
you, I crave your pardon.”

“Had you indeed done the harm you fear, I would never forgive you. I
never could,” answered Gabrielle, firmly; then breaking into a smile
she added: “but if indeed you have brought my cousin here, then do I
thank you, as I say. Aye, thank you with all my heart.”

“You do but jest in a very grave issue, mademoiselle. This marriage
is impossible.” There was less deliberateness and more sternness in
the Duke’s tone now, and it provoked Gabrielle’s pride. Unmistakable
defiance was in her look and mien as she answered:

“By your lordship’s leave, I am head of my house; and if that part of
what you have said be true--that my parents have expressed no wish for
my marriage--I am free to choose without let or hindrance from any man.
But here comes my cousin. He will know how to answer for himself.”

As Gerard came out of the house he started at seeing who was present,
and then came on with firm step and confident bearing, and smiled to
Gabrielle as he reached her side.

CHAPTER XI

THE DUKE’S SENTENCE

Gerard saw at once by the faces of all three that some fresh
complication had occurred during his absence.

“I am very glad you have come, Gerard,” said Gabrielle. “M. le Duc de
Rochelle and my uncle have made some charges which you will be glad to
face.”

“Certainly,” he answered, with a bow to the Governor and a quick glance
at de Proballe. The Duke took no notice of his salutation.

“We had a conversation yesterday concerning the reason for your coming
to Morvaix,” said de Proballe. “You have not forgotten it?”

“I am not likely to have forgotten. Do you wish it repeated now?”
Gabrielle smiled confidently at the tone in which this was said.
Gerard spoke as the challenger, not the challenged. There could be no
mistaking that.

“Leave this to me,” interposed the Duke abruptly.

“He admitted everything to me yesterday,” declared de Proballe; but the
Duke waved his hand impatiently.

“Now, monsieur,” he said sharply to Gerard. “A letter of yours to M. de
Proballe was read this morning. Where is it?”

“A letter was read. It is here;” and he took it from his pocket.

“The Duke and my uncle were listening to our conversation,” said
Gabrielle quietly. “They say that the statements in the letter are
true.”

“They may be,” he said readily.

“Gerard!” Gabrielle’s was a cry of consternation.

“Did you think he would dare to deny it, mademoiselle?” asked the Duke.

“There is no reason for any alarm, Gabrielle. On my honour you need but
have patience.”

“Honour!” exclaimed the Governor contemptuously.

“Does such a word seem strange to the ears of the Duke de Rochelle?”
asked Gerard, quite unmoved as he met the angry look the question drew
forth. “What are the charges your lordship brings against me?”

“Those contained in your own letter; the letter which confesses the
truth. Do you deny you wrote that letter to M. de Proballe?”

For one moment Gerard hesitated.

“The statements contained in that letter so far as they touch me are
absolutely false,” he declared emphatically. “That I affirm on my
honour, Gabrielle; but for the moment I cannot explain the affair.”

“I need no more. I was sure you would repudiate them,” she answered
exultantly. “I shall stay to hear no more.”

“I should prefer you to remain, mademoiselle,” said the Duke.

“I crave your lordship’s permission to retire. I can hear no more of
this attack upon my cousin. I am satisfied. I have his assurance;” and
without waiting for any permission to be given, she went into the house.

Gerard was glad to be left to deal with the matter in her absence.
He recognized the extreme difficulty of the situation and the utter
impossibility of giving a rational explanation without telling the
truth about himself; but he was anxious to have some plain speaking
with the Governor, and he turned at once to him.

“Your lordship will perhaps see the desirability of explaining this new
development to me,” he said.

“You are an insolent rascal in all truth,” was the fiery reply. “It is
from you I demand the explanation. See to it that it is satisfactory. I
am not wont to be trifled with.”

“I see no trifling in all this. Will you explain it, M. de Proballe?”

“You play the braggart well, Gerard, on my soul; and if I see your
object may I be cursed. When with me yesterday you admitted everything;
and now to-day you deny your own writing, and pledge your honour the
very things you have written are false.”

Gerard regarded him sternly. “Would you have had me tell that I was
brought here to Morvaix to marry Gabrielle in order to ruin her?” he
demanded.

“It is false!” cried the Governor.

A flush of anger mounted to Gerard’s face at this insult.

“It accords ill with your reputation for courage, M. le Duc, that you
insult a man to whom your position denies the right to call you to
account. If you have no other tone to adopt toward me, I will retire.
But with M. de Proballe the matter stands otherwise. You will guard
your tongue, monsieur, or I shall hold you responsible.”

“What an impudent swashbuckler is this murderer,” sneered the Governor.

“I am no murderer, my lord,” asserted Gerard, hotly.

“He means he holds your Grace’s pardon for the deed,” said de Proballe.

“It will not save you,” declared the Governor, bluntly. “You have
broken your word and must take the consequences. I will waste no time
with you.”

“In what have I broken my word?”

“I will not stoop to bandy words with you. I have changed my plans;
that is enough for you to know. You are no longer of use to me. But you
can have one chance to save your skin. You came under the protection of
my assurance. You can leave it again; and never dare in the future to
show your villainous face within my province.”

“I shall not leave,” answered Gerard, every whit as firmly. “I have
come for a purpose, and that purpose I shall fulfil.”

“Do you dare to defy me?”

“My words are my words and I will not recall them.”

“In God’s name, you are a brazen scoundrel. But do not imagine that
Mademoiselle de Malincourt can protect you. She is not to be polluted
by a marriage with such as you. More of this, and I will withdraw what
I have said and have you flung into gaol at once to pay the penalty for
your crime.”

“That must be as your lordship will. I will not leave Morvaix even at
your bidding.”

For the moment the Duke’s fury seemed uncontrollable; but he mastered
it and his tone when next he spoke was cold, tense, and full of menace.

“It may be better so, perhaps; but you shall have the chance I named.
Understand me plainly. I will give you twenty-four hours in which to
put as great a distance as you can between you and Morvaix. At noon
to-morrow my troops will start to hunt you down; and whenever and
wherever they find you I swear that you shall die for that Cambrai
murder.”

“Your hounds will not have far to seek. They will find me here in
Morvaix,” returned Gerard calmly. “I am not unwilling to witness your
methods of trial and justice here.”

“You shall not lack the chance, I promise you. One other condition for
your life I make. Before you leave the city you will return the paper
sent to you from me by M. de Proballe. For the rest, look to yourself;
for as I live, it will need all your wits and more than all your
effrontery to save you from my hands.”

With that he turned his back on Gerard, saying to de Proballe that he
would speak again to Gabrielle before leaving Malincourt. They walked
away together, and Gerard turned and paced the terrace in busy thought.

One thing chiefly perplexed him--why the Duke had shewn this change of
front and now wished to drive him from Morvaix instead of seconding the
scheme for the marriage. It did not occur to him to set it down to the
true cause--jealousy; and he racked his wits vainly to find a solution.

The only reason that suggested itself to him was one that strengthened
his resolve to stay--that the Duke’s object was to rob Gabrielle of
even the slender protection which his presence afforded. If that
were so, it followed that there was some fresh scheme on foot to do
Gabrielle immediate hurt; and in that view no consideration whatever
should induce him to leave.

But in such a case, why had not the Governor taken the simpler course
of handing him over to his soldiers at once? In seeking the answer to
that question Gerard came much nearer the truth. If he were to run
away, his flight would be tantamount to a confession that these charges
against himself were true; and Gabrielle would be led to hold him for
the villain which the real de Cobalt unquestionably was. He would be
seen to have pledged his honour to her, only to break it in a cowardly
flight.

Had the villainous de Cobalt stood in his place, he would no doubt have
gladly welcomed the chance of saving his life at the sacrifice of his
honour and of Gabrielle; and the Duke had acted on that supposition.

Nothing should induce him to fall into the snare thus spread for
him; but at the same time he felt that he must take measures for
self-preservation. This Tiger in his passion was capable of going to
any lengths; and means must be at hand to restrain him.

He was still pondering this when Gabrielle came out from her interview
with the Duke. Her bright looks had given place to a troubled
expression, and she was very pale.

“The Governor is like a madman in his wrath against you, Gerard,” she
said. “I have never seen him so moved. Both he and my uncle are now as
furious at the thought of our marriage as before they--or at least my
uncle--was eager to promote it.”

“And you, Gabrielle?”

“I know not how to act or what to say,” she replied with a sigh of
despair.

“The tension of this morning’s scene has tried you,” he said gently.
“But you do not believe I am the dastard----”

“Gerard! No. I cannot. Every prompting of my heart bids me trust you. I
think I would trust you if all the world bore witness against you. But
there must surely be some explanation of so great a mystery.”

“You love me?” he asked with sudden fervour, taking her hand and
searching her eyes with his, in which the fire of love burned. She left
her hand in his willingly and trustingly and met his gaze with a smile.

“Have I not shown it? Do you need any other answer?”

“With a love strong enough to face even this trial?” he insisted
earnestly.

“I shall never change, Gerard. Nothing could change my heart--not even
if all this were proven against you, as they both swear it can be.
It would break my heart and blight my life; but my love would never
change. And believe it I never would or will, unless your own lips tell
me it is true; and even then my heart would rebel against your words.”

“I shall never tell you that,” he replied, vehemently. “Thank God there
is no reason why I should not take your hand and look into your own
innocent eyes and swear on my soul that all this charge passes me
by as an idle breeze. You will never have cause to regret your sweet
trust. That on my honour.”

“Why have they made these charges? I am so sorely perplexed.”

“It will all appear in time, Gabrielle. There is dark and evil work
behind, and I am resolved to drag it to the light of day.”

“But when? They tell me you are going away again! Ah, Gerard, my heart
fell at the news.”

“’Tis but one more falsehood. Only one thing can drive me from
Morvaix--your own sentence.”

“Yet they urged me to counsel you to go, saying that if you stay here
you will be imprisoned. What is this affair at Cambrai which they call
by the fell name of murder? Do not let my question anger you; but if
there be really danger, you must fly.”

“The Governor would have me fly that you may be driven to deem me the
guilty wretch he describes me. There is no danger to me, but rather to
them; to the Governor himself indeed most of all.”

“What would you do? No deed of violence, Gerard?”

“Violence there may have to be; but not of the kind in your thoughts. I
am no assassin, whether at Cambrai or here.”

“Then you have some scheme with which to combat him? Can you not tell
me that?” she asked with almost wistful eagerness.

“It is one that would speak to your heart, Gabrielle, for it will touch
the welfare of all in Morvaix.”

“Now you frighten me. Would you further a revolt here? Heaven knows
our wretched people are hot against him and ripe for a movement of the
kind. But he is so strong in his soldiery, the end would be but useless
bloodshed to be followed by even more grinding tyranny and misery for
the city.”

“Harbour no fears of that. Stay, what if I could lead a movement here
which, without the evil things that make your woman’s heart shrink,
could yet break this Tiger’s power and give good and just government to
the people?”

“It is not possible, Gerard. You speak at random. You are not known
in Morvaix; and the people would not follow an unknown leader. Yet I
have dreamed of something of the kind since you came. Were you but
once established firmly as lord of Malincourt and had had time to win
the confidence of the people and their trust, as you would win it,
then--but there, it is no more than a dream conjured up by finding you
the man you are.”

“May I test your trust still further? I have my reasons, God knows,
for thus testing you. If I were in very truth the wretch the Duke has
painted me, and yet had the means to do what I have said and came to
you in the moment of my triumph and asked you to be my wife, how would
you answer?”

“I would lay my hand in yours without a question, Gerard, sure that,
whatever your past, you had redeemed it for my sake.” She gave her
answer without a falter or a second of hesitation.

“Thank God and you for those words and that trust, Gabrielle,” he
cried, with fervent passion. “If I am ever unworthy of it, may God
deal with me for a traitor! The time for me to claim you so will come,
and until it comes I will wait to seek from your lips the kiss of
betrothal. Now am I sure indeed that all will be well with us.”

“But you will not remain in Morvaix?” she asked, after a pause.

“Could I leave you after this?” he replied tenderly.

“I should understand the reason of your going.”

“I have far stronger reasons to remain near you.”

“I think you should not. I am safe; but I fear for you; and my fear
will not pass while you remain here. I am going to-day to the Duchess
and shall seek her aid and counsel--telling her all.”

“To the Castle?”

“Of a surety to the Castle. She has sent an urgent message to see me.”

“By whom?”

“The Duke.”

“I scent trouble in it. I do not like you to trust yourself in that
man’s power. If you go, I shall go too.”

“You are needlessly alarmed. She is my friend, and as good a woman as
ever drew breath. I am often with her. I could not refuse; but it would
be madness for you to think of going.”

“The term madness does not hinder me. For the part I have to play a
bold front is not only necessary, it is prudence.”

“But you can serve no useful end by such a venture. The Duke might
offer you violence, indeed, in his anger.”

“I can find a pretext and would gladly have a chance to get within the
walls.”

“It may be less easy to find one to get out, Gerard.”

“Even so the work I have to do would not be stayed. I am firm on the
point.”

“I do not like the look of it;” and Gabrielle’s face clouded.

“The look may change on closer view.”

“Harm will come of it, Gerard. Let me prevail.”

“When my work is done you shall never prefer a request in vain. But
this you must not press.” She yielded then, albeit with anxiety and
misgivings; and they went into the house.

Gerard hastened to his apartments to wait for Pascal and to complete
the arrangements for striking the blow upon which he had now decided.

When Pascal arrived the two had a long conference, and once again
Pascal advised a policy of caution.

“Don’t set your foot inside the Castle gates,” he urged vigorously. “It
can do no good and may work incalculable mischief.”

“Would you go in my stead?”

“With all the willingness in life.”

“And shall the leader shirk the risk which his followers would take? Is
it thus we Bourbon leaders lead?”

“That is no reason. There are times, of course, when the leader should
be first, but this is not one of them. You know what sort of wild beast
government this is in Morvaix; you have now ample cause to do all you
will against the Governor; ride out then to Cambrai and yourself bring
up the troops.”

“Shall a Bourbon give men cause to sneer at him for a coward? Nay,
Pascal, you would but anger me to press such counsel further.”

“But your life to me and to us all is too precious to be risked in such
a venture. I know what Dubois would urge were he here. Still, let it be
as you will.”

“I am not risking my life, man. Do you think this Duke, daredevil
though he be, will venture to harm Bourbon’s son when once I declare
myself? His own soldiers would revolt against it. No man shall call me
poltroon; and none has ever before advised me to deserve such a term.”

“There you wrong me, Gerard. But I say no more. Pray heaven no harm
come of it. It was my duty to urge this counsel, but I knew you would
not so act;” and Pascal smiled.

“To our plans then. Another messenger must be found to ride to Cambrai
with all the haste possible and carry this message to my cousin.
In it I have urged him to bring up the troops with all despatch. If
your courier of this morning gets first to hand, d’Alembert will be
already preparing; if not, this urgent message will hurry him. If our
messenger gets quickly to him some eight-and-forty hours should see him
without the city here; and I have told him to ride straight in unless
a messenger from me meets him with a further despatch. By nightfall,
on the day after to-morrow at latest, he should be here; and within
that short space no great harm can happen to either Mademoiselle de
Malincourt or to me, let this Governor do what he will.”

“’Twould be a shrewder plan to get her to ride with you to Cambrai and
return with the troops,” said Pascal.

“The thought has not escaped me; and it may come to it yet. We shall
see. Failing it, I have this plan: Let Dubois or yourself choose some
likely place in the city to which our fellows can be brought, so that
at need, should trouble come, we can make a stand.”

“That is more to my liking,” said Pascal, gleefully.

“And lastly for yourself, Pascal. Don’t return here, but don once more
your monk’s gown; and when the task I have given you is completed, go
to the Castle and keep your eyes open. There, if anywhere, trouble may
be looked for, and your ready wit will be most needed.”

“You will at least let me be near you,” said Pascal earnestly.

“I know your zeal and friendship too well to hesitate to send for
you at the first touch of danger. But I look for none of any serious
character. And now,” he broke off, rising, “it is time for this visit
to the Castle. I must find Mademoiselle de Malincourt.”

Gabrielle was waiting for him and again urged him not to go.

“I have a presentiment,” she said. “Let me dissuade you at the last
moment from this ill-omened daring.”

“I should rather read the omens ill if I were to leave you or suffer
you to go alone, Gabrielle.”

“Is there nothing I can say or do that will urge you to fly?”

“Nothing, nothing; unless,” he added with a half-serious smile--“unless
you would share the flight. And that I cannot ask--yet.”

She started and looked to read his face, and after a moment answered--

“I am a Malincourt, and my place, for good or ill, is in Morvaix.”

“And where is mine if not by your side?”

Nothing more was said, and they set out, Gabrielle so chilled by a
presentiment of danger that her look was serious and troubled.

CHAPTER XII

GABRIELLE’S FRIEND

The Duke carried away from Malincourt a heart bitter with jealousy and
black with anger, and he vented his passion upon de Proballe, whom he
chose to regard as the cause of all the trouble.

“You have betrayed my confidence shamefully. You have doubtless your
own ends to gain, as that letter hinted; but they will cost you dear,
whatever they are, monsieur.”

“Betrayed you? How?” asked de Proballe, exceedingly uneasy as he
thought his ulterior plans might be suspected. “What have I done other
than as we agreed?”

“Did we agree that this scoundrel was so to arrange the manner of
his coming as to impress your niece in this way? Was he to flaunt
himself as a man of spirit and courage and impose thus on a young,
impressionable, high-minded girl?”

“Did I order the manner of his coming? You wrong me entirely. His
secret coming was as much a surprise to me as an offence to you; and
that he was able to make this impression on Gabrielle was not my doing
but the blundering of your own men. Your soldiers first in the market
place; your followers, de Cavannes and d’Estelle, afterwards in their
attack upon Denys in Gabrielle’s very presence when Gerard was at hand.”

“Would God they had killed him!” exclaimed the Duke brutally. “But
after the affair in the market place you should have told me.”

“Nay, that is an even greater injustice than ever. Who of us even
guessed that the man was de Cobalt?” De Proballe’s tone was a good
imitation of injured innocence.

“You have betrayed me, I say; and if the thing miscarries you shall
suffer,” returned the Governor, in no mood to listen to any reason.
“You should have stopped the mischief as soon as you saw it was going
so far.”

“It happened but yesterday.”

“God’s Cross! man, what has that to do with it? Is a mischief like this
to be counted by hours? Was it ever in our plan that the villain should
win your niece’s heart?”

“He had at least to make such an impression as would induce her to
consent to marry him. It is but a passing fancy which the proof of his
evil character will cure--and his flight will prove it better than
aught else.”

“Passing fancy!” exclaimed the Duke bitterly. “Are you blind? I know
not when I have so keenly suffered. But if he do not fly, he shall
suffer too.”

“He is not fool enough to remain. It was a shrewd thought to give him
time to cool and think; and if he have any mind to linger, I will
find arguments to drive him away. He has yet to learn your methods of
justice here in Morvaix: I can find in them ample reasons for him.
Although why you let him go instead of dealing with him at once I do
not see.”

“If he flies, his flight will be, as you say, the proof of his guilt.”

“He will fly,” said de Proballe, confidently. “Did he not shun your
province as a man would shun hell? Did he not refuse to come without
that promise of pardon in writing? By a man’s acts you shall know him,
not by his words. Let him think of Gabrielle as he will, he will think
more of his own life. But I would have kept him.”

“When his flight has proved his guilt he can be retaken for me to use.”

De Proballe laughed. “You have a mercy of your own, Duke. I had not
thought of that. Stay, what if he were to use this interval of your
mercy to prevail on Gabrielle to fly with him? He is daredevil enough.”

“She would never stoop to that, surely!”

“Women are women, and when they are in--when a man influences them, I
mean, the best will do strange things.”

“Return to Malincourt and watch, de Proballe. Your niece is to come
to the Castle two hours after noon. Make this flight impossible after
then; and after that I will see to it that no chance offers for her
to leave even the Castle itself. If the mad attempt be made, have the
scoundrel seized and brought to me.”

De Proballe was by no means sorry to get away from the Governor in his
present mood, and returned to Malincourt to keep the watch; while the
Governor hurried on to the Castle to take further steps designed to
prevent this suggested flight; and some of them were to have important
results in another direction.

He despatched a body of soldiers to watch round Malincourt, and at the
same time sent urgent commands to the officers of the different gates
of the city that no one was to be allowed to pass out without leave
signed by him. Thus it came about that the courier whom Pascal was
sending to Cambrai was stopped, and valuable time lost.

The Governor, having completed these arrangements, was closeted for an
hour with his wife, and as soon as he heard, to his intense relief,
that Gabrielle had arrived at the Castle and was with the Duchess, he
sent for Dubois to sound him in regard to that part of the plan which
called for the aid of the Church.

He was as hot now upon the scheme of divorcing his wife in order to be
free to marry again, as he had been formerly upon the other intention.

The ruse by which Gerard had succeeded in getting a hundred of his own
soldiers enrolled among the Castle troops, by pretending that they
came as a gift from the Cardinal Archbishop, was thus having singular
results. The Governor read it as a proof that he stood so well with the
Cardinal that he could hope to receive his Eminence’s support in the
matter of the divorce; and as he concluded Dubois had been chosen as
the Cardinal’s delegate because of the latter’s confidence in him, here
was the very man at hand to sound on the matter.

Dubois was a clever soldier and a brave fighter, and had been selected
by Gerard for his present task because his influence with the men was
most likely to keep them in bounds while in the Castle. He made a very
brusque unmonklike monk, however; and he now found himself in a very
awkward position. Moreover, he knew nothing of Gerard’s experiences
within the last few hours.

He listened quietly to the Duke, and, seeing no connection between the
matter and any of Gerard’s affairs, felt no interest in it at all, and
gave his own opinion bluntly. He was a soldier, not a cleric; knew
little and cared less about the theological views as to the dissolution
of a tie cemented by a sacrament of the Church; and the only thought he
had about it was that as the Tiger Governor was such a tyrant, it was a
blessing and not a curse that he was childless--the point on which with
him the Duke laid the chief stress.

“His Eminence would never sanction it, my lord,” he declared brusquely.
“It is against the Canon of Holy Church.”

“But it has been sanctioned before now,” replied the Governor, and went
on to cite instances and to argue the matter. Dubois had, however, only
one reply to everything.

“The Cardinal would never sanction it;” and his dogged insistence upon
this began at length to enrage the Governor, not a little to Dubois’
grim amusement.

“I would rather have the countenance of the Church, but in Morvaix
I am the head of the Church as of all else. I am wont to act first
and inquire afterwards in most things. It is simpler, and the end is
the same. This may be such a case. If I should seek your help as the
Cardinal’s representative you would give it?”

“It is none of my affair,” replied Dubois hastily.

“I repeat my question;” and the Governor looked at him meaningly. But
Dubois was the last man in the world to be browbeaten; and thus he
answered stolidly:

“And I repeat my answer, my lord.”

“I am not wont to be set at defiance by monk or priest.”

“Nor I to be driven from my duty, my lord. I am not setting you at
defiance.”

“My priests in Morvaix do not answer me thus.”

“I am not your lordship’s priest.”

“You will at least keep silence about what has passed between us.”

“Unless my duty demand that I should speak of it.”

“What is that but threatening me and defying me?” The Governor’s anger
was mounting fast in view of what he deemed the monk’s contumacy, and
Dubois was no less dogged and blunt.

“If what you propose to do be right, what need is there for silence; if
it be wrong, why should my lips be sealed?” he answered.

“Secrets confided to the ears of you holy men are to be regarded as
sacred.”

“This is no such occasion. You sought my opinion and I gave it. That is
all. My duty is my duty, none the less or more.”

“Peace with your canting about duty. You are in Morvaix now, and I
will settle what is your duty. I rule here, absolutely.”

“I am not disputing your rule, my lord; but I was not sent here to do
your bidding or to cease to do what I deem my duty.”

“Out of my sight. It is such canting hypocrites as you who sow discord
and do mischief. See to it that you hold your babbling tongue, or I’ll
find means to silence you.” But Dubois fired at this injustice and
answered hotly--

“I am no canting hypocrite, my lord, nor am I a recreant coward to
flinch and cringe before your angry looks and passionate words. They do
but convince me that in this thing you have some evil purpose; and not
in Morvaix, no, nor in all France, is there power to silence me if I
think I ought to speak.”

“Out of my presence before I send for my guards to drive you away for a
pestilent ribald malcontent.”

“I came of your seeking, not of my own wish,” returned Dubois, not one
whit abashed by the Governor’s violence.

“If I have cause to send for you again you will repent it.”

“I am in no ways persuaded of that,” returned Dubois, sturdily; and
he swung out of the room, little thinking that he had done harm to
Gerard by his manful attitude. Yet in a way he had; for the Governor,
revolving what had passed, determined not to take the risk of applying
to the Cardinal, but to hurry on his marriage, and leave the Church to
interfere when it would have the accomplished fact to face.

Had Dubois but known, he would have been more prudent to have appeared
to consent to the Governor’s plans and to have held out to him the hope
of the Cardinal’s consent, so that he might have been induced to incur
the delay necessary to obtain it. He saw this when Gerard pointed it
out to him later. But it was too late then.

In the meantime the Duchess had received Gabrielle with even greater
tenderness and love than usual; and it was some time before she began
to work round slowly to the subject of the Duke’s wishes.

“I am old, feeble, and bed-ridden, Gabrielle, and worse than all,
childless. I am done with the world, dear, and willing to give place to
one who can play my part better. It would have been better, far better,
had I died years ago.”

“Then I should have lacked the truest woman friend a girl could have,”
answered Gabrielle sweetly. “But you must not yield to this melancholy.
You have been in greater pain than usual, I fear, and it has tried you.”

“Not of body, child, but of mind, perhaps,” and she sighed. “It is ill
to lag on and on, a weary dreary nuisance to all around you. There
comes a time when it is good to die.”

“You are morbid. Something has distressed you. Tell me,” and Gabrielle
sat on the bedside and took her friend’s hand.

“I have been a failure, child. I see it now; and see how the people
under the Duke’s rule have suffered in consequence. The Duke himself
has shown me this.”

“The Duke?” exclaimed Gabrielle in surprise.

“The influence of a woman’s hand in his governing has been sadly
missed. He loved me once, child, and then I could sway him, hard though
he now seems. But when I bore him no children and my helplessness fell
on me, an estrangement grew between us and from that followed, oh, so
many evils.” She sighed deeply, and paused before she added: “Yet he
has shown me it is not too late, even now.”

“I cannot follow you now, dear,” said Gabrielle.

“A noble without a son to succeed him lacks one of the great
incentives to do right, Gabrielle. He turns his thoughts inwards,
broods, thinks only of himself, and grows the harder for the galling
grief and disappointment. It has been so with the Duke. If I had but
died years ago, when first my calamity struck me down, he would have
taken another wife who would have borne him children. Would God indeed
that I had died!”

Gabrielle said nothing. Deep down in her mind the thought began to take
shape that there was some purpose behind her friend’s words--some new
cause to bring this side of her sufferings to the light just now.

“I used to pray so earnestly for a son,” the Duchess continued, after a
painful pause; “but none came; and I was thus so unneeded, so less than
useless; a clog, a drag, a dead weight in his life. I could not wonder
he grew cold, and that in time the coldness hardened into cruelty.
I stood for no more than the disappointment in his life.” She spoke
in a slow, leaden, hopeless, melancholy tone, infinitely touching to
Gabrielle. “It is a dreary fate for a wife, child, to stir no other
feeling in her husband’s heart than that of disappointment and to see
it hardening slowly into hate. Had I but dared at that time I would
have taken my life. But I was a coward. I dared not find freedom in
that way.”

“Did the Duke know of these thoughts?” asked Gabrielle, keeping her
face averted.

“Whether he could read mine as I could read his, I know not. I saw
him only rarely. This has been so for many years indeed. That he
should speak often of our childlessness, should even taunt me with
it, was perhaps no more than natural--and yet every word was like a
sword-thrust in my heart. More than once I made him a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“It was my own thought,” continued the Duchess, smoothing Gabrielle’s
hair and petting her. “Quite my own. You know how the idea of
self-sacrifice will sometimes seize upon us women till it becomes
almost a desire. It was so with me. I knew it would be so well for
Morvaix if he could have some one by his side, heart-warm in the desire
to help the people, strong in influence to modify the ever growing
sternness of his rule by gentle suasive counsel--he is at heart a man
amenable to such influence, Gabrielle--and able to take a due part in
the work of government: a helpmeet in all ways. So I urged him to gain
the sanction of Holy Church to dissolve our marriage, on the ground of
our childlessness, and seek--another and a better wife.”

“My dear, my dear,” cried Gabrielle, intensely moved. “Where could he
find a better in all fair France than you? He refused you, of course.”

“Yes--then; and not kindly, but with a gibe--that he had not found
marriage an experience he wished to double. It wounded me of course
to have what I meant in all sincerity to be a help to him thus turned
to jeering; but he did not understand my motive, I think. But now he
has gone back to the plan; for there is one, a woman among women,
Gabrielle, who would be all that Morvaix could desire as his wife. And
the one of all others whom I could best bear to see filling my place.”

She paused for Gabrielle to speak; but no response came.

“Her heart, like mine, is for the people’s weal and her influence would
be far greater than mine could ever have been with the citizens; real,
powerful, active, where mine is now dead. You have often told me how
you love the people, Gabrielle.”

“You must say no more,” answered Gabrielle, in a low firm voice. “I
will not affect to misunderstand you, and I know you speak in all
purity of thought and intent. But were all other considerations naught,
I would never do you this wrong.”

“He and all would honour you if you were his wife, Gabrielle.”

“Nay, I should dishonour myself. I beg you say no more.”

“You would be all-powerful to rule in Morvaix.”

“Were the throne of France the guerdon I would not consent.”

“Your heart is free, child?” The gentle eyes were full on Gabrielle’s
face as the question was put, and the light that rushed to it did not
escape them. “Gabrielle, my Gabrielle, I did not know;” and at that
Gabrielle lowered her head and hid it on her friend’s heart. “Pray
heaven he is worthy of you. Tell me, child. Or is it a secret?”

“No secret,” said Gabrielle, lifting her head proudly. “My cousin,
Gerard de Cobalt----”

“Gabrielle, not he, surely not he, I trust,” interposed the Duchess,
in a tone of dismay. “Oh, how I am punished for not having spoken my
fears. Since last we spoke together of him and his coming, I have heard
ill tidings indeed concerning him, but put off speaking to warn you
until I could be certain. He is not worthy of you, child; far, far from
it.”

“You have not seen him and spoken with him, or you would not say that.”

“When did he come?”

“But yesterday; or rather, two days past;” and Gabrielle told of the
meeting in the market place and after at Malincourt.

“It is a tragedy,” was the Duchess’s comment. “And you love him! Oh,
Gabrielle, Gabrielle, what sorrow is there not in store for you!”

“Not through him,” was the confident reply.

“Alas! child, what do you know of men who judge them by a comely face
and a fair-speaking tongue? When could a man not speak a maiden fairly?
Have they not told you of his evil life? Of the crime for which he
craved the Duke’s pardon fore ever he set foot in the city?”

“My heart is closed to the voice of slander against him, dear,” replied
Gabrielle, in the same proud confident tone.

“How like a maiden in love! But alas! my child, I know these things are
true. His life is forfeit for the one deed--but one among many in his
black life. Oh, Gabrielle, how terrible, how terrible! It will break
your life even worse than mine has been broken.”

“I have neither fears for him nor doubts for myself.”

“When the heart is young how easy to be confident. How sad and more
than sad is all this! And here, then, is the reason why my words found
your ears deaf, is it?”

“Only in part. Had I never seen Gerard, my answer had been the same.”

The Duchess sighed and shivered slightly in fear.

“The Duke will hear your decision unwillingly, Gabrielle; and it will
harden his heart against the man who thus comes between you and him.
Your cup of suffering will be full indeed even while you are so young.
He had built upon this marriage; thinking by it to join the influence
of your house of Malincourt with his.”

“I recall now how he spoke of my having some influence in the governing
of the city, and of some sacrifice to be made by me. This may have been
in his thoughts; and yet almost in the same breath he had spoken of my
marriage to my cousin. ’Twas inexplicable to me then, and is even more
so now. Yet the thing was not more possible then than now. Did death
itself gape full in front of me, I would not be his wife.” There was no
mistaking the unalterable firmness of her decision.

“You have an honest heart and soul, Gabrielle, and were I you, and so
placed as you, I should decide as you.”

“You uphold me, then?”

“I told the Duke I was sure what your reply would be when he laid on me
the ungrateful task of questioning you. Yet in a way I am sorry; for if
it be not you, it may be some one less worthy, to the hurt of all in
Morvaix.”

“And if need should come, you will stand by me as to my cousin?”

“Have I ever failed you when I had the power to help? But in this I am
powerless. It would be wrong to give you fruitless hope. Were he but a
good man, worthy of your sweet pure love, how gladly would I serve you,
if serve any one I can in my helplessness.”

Gabrielle smiled. “I will prove him worthy--nay, not I, he himself will
prove it to Morvaix and the world; and then I will claim your promise.”

“Nor claim it in vain, Gabrielle; that you know. And now let us speak
of less trying matters. I am weary,” said the Duchess, and they were
thus engaged when the Governor entered.

Gabrielle rose, and the Duke first cast a sharp questioning glance at
his wife’s face--

“I am always glad to find you here, mademoiselle. I trust you have had
long enough time to come to an understanding?”

“I have done my utmost, Charles,” said the Duchess, shrinkingly.

“I ask no more. May I beg some words with you, mademoiselle?”

“Except on one subject, certainly,” replied Gabrielle.

“We will discuss the exceptions in private,” he returned with a frown.

“I beg you to excuse me, my lord.”

His answer was characteristic. He opened the door leading to an
adjoining room and held it for her to pass out.

“Pardon me my insistence. What I have to say must be in private and
cannot wait.”

For a moment Gabrielle rebelled, raising her head proudly and meeting
his gaze firmly.

“I repeat, must be in private, mademoiselle,” he said, adding as an
afterthought: “And it cannot fail to interest you, seeing whom it
concerns.”

She went then and he followed, maintaining silence until they were
alone.

“There must be no misunderstanding between us, my lord,” cried
Gabrielle, at once throwing down the gauge of defiance. “The
Duchess, your wife and my dear friend, has at your instigation made
me acquainted with your proposal--a proposal I deem infamous and
unholy--and no power you can exert can bring me even to consider it. I
pray you spare me the pain of any further reference to it.”

“You are wrong to meet me thus at the outset with antagonism. You have
heard as yet but one side only, and must bear with me while I speak of
the other. I am far from being your enemy, Heaven knows.”

“While matters remain as they are, I cannot count your lordship among
my friends.”

“Those are hard words to hear, mademoiselle. You mean?”

“I mean the slanders you have sanctioned against my cousin and the
threats with which you have menaced him. His cause is mine; his enemies
are my enemies.”

He made a stern, angry gesture, but held his temper in check.

“The Duchess has told you my wishes--that of her own will and at her
own desire our marriage should be dissolved, in order that you may
become my wife. But my full motive she could not tell you because she
does not know it. It is--that I love you, Gabrielle; love, aye, worship
the very ground you tread and the very air you breathe. For me all
France holds no----”

“Spare me this added shame, my lord,” Gabrielle broke in, her voice
vibrating and her eyes flaming with indignation.

“Shame!” he repeated, with an angry start.

“What is it but shame, the wrong you would do to the purest and
sweetest wife man ever had; what else but shame that you should offer
to prostrate your government to your own purposes; what but foulest
shame that almost within hearing of the woman you would thus wrong
you seek to pollute my ears with this infamous profession? If there
be a spark of manhood in you, kindle it till it light up your soul
sufficiently to save you and me from this unholy degradation.”

“Your passion but whets my love, Gabrielle. I am not a man to be set
aside from a purpose once formed. My purpose is now set--you shall be
my wife; and neither man nor devil nor God shall turn me.”

“I have but one word, then. I hold your offer to be vile and degrading,
and I would rather die than falter for an instant in repudiating it.”

“You will not turn me,” he repeated. “I have offered you my love--a
love that burns in me as a consuming fire--and you think to put it
aside with indignation and contempt. But there are other emotions
fighting for me than love. And fear is one of them.”

“I do not fear your lordship,” flashed Gabrielle, with lofty pride.

“Yet there is none in Morvaix to protect you from me.”

“My cousin Gerard----”

“He has fled the city, like the craven, guilty, worthless wretch he
is,” he answered contemptuously.

“It is not true, my lord. He is here in your castle. He came with me,
foreseeing more clearly than I the purpose with which you brought me
here. He came for my protection. And he is no craven guilty wretch as
you say, but a good and true man: the man, my lord, whom I love, and
whose wife I shall be, by the grace of God.”

He stood fighting with the tempest of rage which this proud avowal
provoked and was still striving for self-restraint, when an
interruption occurred. Some one came to the door, and when, with an
angry exclamation, he opened it, he found a messenger from de Proballe.

“Your Grace, M. le Baron de Proballe desires me to say that he seeks
the favour of an immediate audience with you on matters of the most
urgent importance affecting closely M. de Cobalt,” said the man.

“He has not fled, you say?” cried the Duke, turning to Gabrielle, and
jumping to the conclusion that that was the news. His manner was full
of exultation, and he laughed unpleasantly as he added: “Come and see
for yourself.”

Together they went down to where de Proballe was waiting with strange
news that had brought him in hot haste to the Castle.

At the sight of her uncle’s face and the triumphant glance he cast at
her, Gabrielle felt her heart sink in momentary fear for Gerard; but
she rallied quickly and faced them both with a confident smile as she
waited for the tidings.

CHAPTER XIII

DISCOVERY

While Gabrielle was closeted with the Duchess Gerard had made the best
use of his time to learn what he could of the Governor’s Castle.

Well placed on rising ground just within the northern gate, it had in
former times been a strong fortress, at once overawing Morvaix itself
and commanding the approach from the north, the side which was most
open to attack. Its outer fortifications formed a long portion of the
boundary walls of the city; and in the more desperate times when that
district had been constantly overrun by raiders, many a fierce and
desperate conflict had raged round its gloomy walls.

Gerard saw, not without uneasiness, that the Governor had restored many
of the old fortifications, had constructed several more modern works,
and had thus greatly strengthened the place.

The reason was not far to seek. The Duke ruled by force. He ground the
people under the iron heel of military discipline; and so long as he
was sure of the strength of his Castle and could maintain his soldiers,
the people were powerless. They might protest and murmur and even rise
in revolt; but under the frowning menace of the Castle, they were
helpless.

Every piece of the military machinery was kept in a high state of
preparedness for eventualities, and Gerard’s keen soldier’s eye could
not fail to note all the evidences of strength and to estimate them at
their true value. Whatever the Duke might be, he was a good soldier.
Everything about the Castle was regulated with military precision.

Stranger though he was, no one attempted to interfere with him or
even hinder him as he made his observations. He had been seen to
arrive with Gabrielle, and as the Duke had never deemed it possible he
would venture inside the fortress and had therefore given no orders
concerning him, he was held to be a guest who had been made free of the
Castle, and was allowed to go where he would.

The knowledge gained in this survey might prove invaluable. The plan
of the whole Castle was soon clear in his mind and he detected the
one weak spot in the defences against which, should the time come, an
attack could best be delivered.

This was at a point on the city side of the walls where some works were
still in progress. The ground outside rose to within a few feet of the
parapet on the top, and gangs of men were at work there: some removing
the ground and others deepening the foundations of the walls, while
their ladders and tools lay about the place.

Gerard smiled with intense satisfaction at the discovery, which
might well have vital importance. If a crisis arose which rendered
it imperative for him to make a stand against the Governor for a
time while awaiting the arrival of his cousin from Cambrai, Dubois
could easily collect the men within the Castle and with them make a
dash through this breach; or again, if he himself were put under any
restraint by the Duke, here was the road of escape.

With these thoughts in his mind he made the most careful observation of
the exact position of the spot, and then descended from the walls to
the courtyards below to find the speediest and most direct road to it.

He had completed his survey and was entering the Castle when he
encountered Dubois fresh from his interview with the Governor and
seething with indignation at his treatment.

“My lord!” exclaimed Dubois involuntarily, in surprise.

“Good day, holy friar,” answered Gerard, with a gesture of caution.
“I have heard of your good deeds and would confer with you,” he added
aloud for the hearing of a couple of soldiers who were passing.

“We can speak here,” said Dubois, drawing aside into an alcove; and
in rapid tones he told of all he had done since his arrival, and then
described the interview with the Governor.

“You did well, but could have done better,” said Gerard, after a
moment’s pause. “You should have led him to think the sanction would
have been forthcoming from the Cardinal, and so have gained time. But
it is vain to speak of that now. Listen to my plans.” He told him the
result of his observation, and instructed him to ascertain exactly what
guard was kept at the works by night, to have some of their own men
always watching near at hand, and above all to be sure that ladders
were to be available there so that no time should be lost in case of
emergency.

“I too have a plan,” said Dubois. “The soldiers here are but a wild
mercenary lot, dissatisfied with everything; disaffected toward the
Duke and their officers; any man’s men who will but pay them. With a
few bags of crowns, many of them could be bought and the Castle itself
seized. Even among those who could not be bought, the men of Morvaix
itself and the district round, there are many who hate the Governor for
his excesses and, in their sympathy with the people outside, are ripe
to revolt.”

“Splendidly done!” said Gerard. “I knew you would not be housed in
the Castle without results. I like the scheme. ’Twould be a stroke
indeed to vanquish this strutting cock with his own spurs. Push your
inquiries all you can in safety, using every discretion, and we will
speak of it again.”

“Ah, my fine cavalier, so we meet again. Seeking absolution from our
new sir priest here, eh?”

Gerard turned quickly at the sneering voice to find that the two
gallants whom he had surprised in their attack upon Denys, had come
up unawares and now stood regarding Dubois and himself with sharp
suspicious glances.

“Is the Duke dead that his serving men have come to power?” retorted
Gerard. “Or is either of you minded to renew the affair of the gardens
of Malincourt?”

“We are minded to see what the rats are about in the Castle, whatever
the colour of their coats.” It was d’Estelle who answered. He was pale
and weak, and carried his arm in a sling.

“You are wounded, monsieur, and so licensed for a time in your
insolence. But you, monsieur,” and Gerard made a step toward Antoine.
“You are still unhurt. Do you carry also an uncivil tongue? If I know
not how your tongue runs, since I have not heard it yet, I know at
least how your legs run, for I have seen them.”

“This is no brawler’s tavern,” cried d’Estelle, insolently. “You are
out of your element here.”

“Peace,” interposed Dubois, in his sonorous tones. “Be careful of such
wanton provocation. I have known men’s blood to flow for less. You
should guard your tongue, young sir.”

“All right, bald pate,” cried d’Estelle with a flippant laugh.

“You have said nothing, monsieur,” said Gerard to Antoine.

“Peace, my son, peace,” said Dubois again, laying his hand on Gerard’s
shoulder. “Would you, too, provoke strife?”

“Good, old Tell-your-beads. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for
such a gander,” exclaimed d’Estelle, with another laugh.

“These gentlemen and I have met before, father,” said Gerard. “I
prevented them from murdering a man, and they bear me ill-will in
consequence.”

“It was no murder but a fair quarrel, monsieur,” said Antoine.

“Fair? With two swords to one?”

“I caught M. St. Jean maltreating a lady who is dear to me, and did but
seek to punish him as he deserved.”

“When I see a liar I watch his lips and listen. I am watching yours,
monsieur,” said Gerard, contemptuously. “You were set to murder him and
for that purpose rode after him yester morning.” Antoine changed colour
and d’Estelle was silent.

“Be careful what you say, monsieur,” replied Antoine, hoarsely. “We are
the Duke’s followers and this is his lordship’s Castle.”

“If you do not like my words, monsieur, there is an alternative which
men of honour understand,” retorted Gerard, in a deliberate tone, and
with a look which Antoine had little mind to face.

“If I do not seek a fight with you, it is not because I fear you,” he
answered, in none too firm a tone; “but because there may be a way more
useful to my master to deal with you.”

“I appreciate your discretion, and should I need a spy, may send in
quest of your services.” Then turning his back upon the pair he added
to Dubois: “Now, father, we will resume our discussion of that point
about Thomas à Kempis. I was arguing in regard to the warning against
apostasy that----”

“Those vermin may be dangerous. They suspect,” put in Dubois as they
passed out of earshot.

“A risk or so more or less at this crisis does not count for much; but
try to have them marked. They are two of this Tiger’s claws and would
scratch from behind given the chance.”

Just then a noise behind them attracted Gerard’s attention, and turning
he saw de Proballe, with Dauban at his side, hurrying toward the
apartments of the Governor.

“Ah, Gerard, I find you in good company here!” said de Proballe in a
cordial tone, pausing on his way. “I have great news. It concerns you.”

“How so, M. le Baron?”

“What a formal fellow you are, with your M. le Baron. We must get to
closer terms than these. I’m taking my news to the Governor. Come with
me. Give me your arm, lad.”

“I thank you, monsieur, but it is not my wish.”

“Oh, Gerard, Gerard,” cried de Proballe, with a laugh. “You will never
push your way in this good city of Morvaix while you show yourself so
cold and indifferent. Well, well, come to the Duke or go to the--Church
your own way. It’s all one to me,” and with a laugh he swept on. He was
in high spirits.

“There is some meaning in this,” muttered Gerard, gazing after him.
“Go you, Dubois, and see to all I have said. I will make my way to the
Duke. ‘When de Proballe laughs there is the devil by his elbow,’ was
once a proverb in Paris, and it may be just as true in Morvaix.”

Without appearing to hasten, he followed de Proballe, keeping a wary
eye for all things as he passed along, and quickened his steps when
he caught sight of the Governor in the distance in conference with
de Proballe, while Gabrielle, her back toward him, was watching them
closely.

The Governor had come down in response to de Proballe’s urgent message
in the firm belief that the news was that of Gerard’s flight and his
first question was to that effect.

“He has gone?” he asked eagerly.

“A word first into your ear;” and de Proballe drew him aside. “Gone?
No, thank Heaven! better than that, much better. He is here in the
Castle. I have spoken to him this minute.”

“Has he dared?” exclaimed the Governor with a frown.

“Dared? It seems he would dare anything. Wait, here he is,” he cried,
catching sight of Gerard. “Now you shall see a comedy. Come, Gerard,
come; I was waiting for you. I want your help.”

Hearing of his presence Gabrielle turned and ran to Gerard and stood by
him.

“What is this?” demanded the Governor of de Proballe.

“Bear with me and have your guards at hand, and you will see,” was the
whispered reply.

“They are always at hand here,” was the curt grim reply.

De Proballe went toward Gerard, a smile on his lips.

“So you have not followed our advice, Gerard, and fled. You like the
city and the Castle? Perhaps you were seeking ghostly advice just now
from that sturdy monk? I found our young friend in close consultation
with a monk as I passed, Duke. Preparing, let us think, for that longer
journey which you mentioned as the alternative to flight from the city.”

De Proballe was obviously enjoying the situation and resolved to make
the most of it.

“Who was the monk? Do you know him?” asked the Governor quickly.

“He who came from the Cardinal Archbishop, the delegate. Gerard, it
seems, is particular as to who shall shrive him. Our Morvaix priests
are not good enough. The conference lasted long, too; at least so
Antoine de Cavannes told me.”

The Governor shot a sharp glance at Gerard, who said to Gabrielle--

“The monk is one of those whom I met two days ago in the market place,
Gabrielle, when Babillon, the smith, was done to death at my lord’s
bidding.” He spoke quietly and calmly. “You may remember him; a dark,
swarthy, burly man who helped you. The companion of him who stepped
between us and the soldiery.”

“I remember him well,” answered Gabrielle. She was oppressed by a sense
of danger, impalpable and invisible, but yet real.

“That is all,” said Gerard, with a smile to reassure her.

“Of what spoke you together?” asked the Governor.

“May not a man speak even with a monk in Morvaix without the Governor’s
permission? ’Twould seem not indeed; for even while we were in
converse, those two jackals who sought to take your Denys’ life,
Gabrielle, came up with flouts and jeers and sneers, as though licensed
to insult even men of a religious life. I think in truth this is a
matter that concerns you closely, my lord.”

“How dare you say that to me?”

“What daring is there in it? I answered the fellow--the one that is yet
unwounded--told him my thoughts of him and offered him such reparation
as he could take; when he turned upon me and hinted that such insolence
as his was possible by your protection and permission. He is yonder;
let him come and answer for himself;” and Gerard pointed to where
Antoine and d’Estelle were standing at a distance.

“Enough of this insolence,” exclaimed the Governor.

“So I told him,” replied Gerard coolly; “scarce believing it possible
such things could be done with your sanction.”

De Proballe had been fretting at this interlude in which he was not
taking the important part he desired.

“You need a curb to your tongue, Gerard,” he said.

“Does M. de Proballe desire an opportunity of applying it?”

“What a fire-eater it is!” cried de Proballe, hiding his vexation under
a laugh, “and what a wit! Where did you learn to be so free with your
tongue?”

“Not in Morvaix of a truth, where every one must order his speech to
suit the ears of his Governor, it seems.”

“Gerard!” whispered Gabrielle, with growing alarm at his reckless
answers.

“Yet there are things in Morvaix that we can teach persons of even your
high character!” exclaimed the Governor sharply.

“I have already learnt many, my lord,” was the dry retort.

“One you will learn. Thou shalt do no murder,” added de Proballe.

“That is certainly a branch of knowledge with many expert professors
here,” returned Gerard, with the same reckless air.

His manner was intentionally assumed. He had not failed to discern from
de Proballe’s manner that some development was at hand, which boded
danger; and he chose deliberately the attitude of reckless defiance
of all authority. Intrepid by nature, he had often seen danger met
and difficulties overcome by boldness, when no other means could have
succeeded.

His bearing toward the Governor, despot though he was in Morvaix, was
carefully calculated. As a Bourbon and the son of the Suzerain Duke,
with full authority to act in his father’s place, this Governor owed
him allegiance, and he believed he had but to reveal his true character
to bring the bully to his knees.

Moreover, his hot Bourbon blood was fired by the insults heaped upon
him as well as by the infamous condition of affairs he had found in
Morvaix.

But above all, and more than all, his chivalry was stirred on
Gabrielle’s account; and his new-born love for her filled his heart
with fury against the two men who had plotted her ruin and had turned
their venom against him only when they found he was no pliant tool in
their abominable scheme.

The Governor on his side was no whit less angry, and only Gabrielle’s
presence had restrained him from replying to Gerard’s taunts with
violence. He meant to use Gerard as the means to force her consent to
marry him; and had resolved that he should not leave the Castle until
that consent had been wrung from her.

This very resolve, however, made him hesitate. To give him countenance
with her, the crime which Gerard had committed must be the ground
for imprisonment; and while he smarted and fumed and raged under the
lash of Gerard’s bitter words, he had held back. But the limit of
his endurance was reached; and as a first step he resolved to send
Gabrielle away.

There was a pause of some moments after Gerard’s last words while the
Governor made this decision, and then he turned to Gabrielle.

“Mademoiselle, I must ask you to return to my wife for a time.”

“Do not go, Gabrielle, there is no need,” declared Gerard.

“He is right, my lord, there is no need,” said de Proballe.

“This must end,” muttered the Governor.

“It shall end--now. Come, Gerard, I have spoken of your sharp wits. Let
us see you use them now. Tell me the contents of this,” and de Proballe
held a paper before him.

“I am no wizard to read what I cannot see, monsieur.”

“No wizard; you hear that, Duke. No wizard. Yet something of a wizard
surely--to _write_ what you have never seen.”

Gerard on the instant understood what had occurred, but his face gave
no sign and he stared steadily into de Proballe’s sneering face.

“Come, Gerard, come. You must know it. It is your own letter just
arrived from you.”

The Governor understood it now, and with evidences of great excitement
he tore the paper from de Proballe’s hand and read it.

He glanced from it to Gerard, and smiled--a smile full of sinister
meaning.

“Do you say you do not know this?”

Gerard maintained the same calm collected attitude. He was considering
what course to adopt.

“You hear? Either you know what is written here or you are some lying
impostor masquerading in a false name.”

“Gerard! Gerard!” cried Gabrielle, intensely moved.

“Aye, Gerard--or some other name,” sneered de Proballe. “Ask his name,
Gabrielle.”

“Now, monsieur, at once if you please,” said the Governor, in a stern
imperative tone. “Speak, or I call my guards. Do you know this paper?
If not, who are you and why are you here?”

CHAPTER XIV

“I AM NOT GERARD DE COBALT”

Of all present Gabrielle was by far the most agitated. The Duke,
perplexed, suspicious, and bitterly hostile to the man who had stepped
between him and his passion, was chiefly concerned to find how best
to turn the thing to his rival’s hurt. De Proballe, angry at having
been tricked, was for the moment too occupied in enjoying his personal
importance in having thus unmasked the impostor, to think of much else.

But to Gabrielle the issue was all in all. If this were not Gerard her
cousin, the man to whom she had been betrothed, how strangely forward
and unmaidenly she must have appeared. She recalled with a sense of
something akin to shame how she had almost pressed herself upon him in
the first moment of his arrival; and at the recollection, her cheeks
flamed so that she hid them beneath her hands and involuntarily drew
away from his side.

It was but a little thing, that gesture of hers; but Gerard saw and
understood it, and on the moment it stayed the words of avowal even as
they were at his lips, and changed the whole course of his action. He
had come to Morvaix to ascertain the truth as to the misgovernment and,
if need arose, to depose and punish the powerful Governor; but his love
for Gabrielle was now so much to him and filled so much of his purpose,
that he set it first and before all else.

He had won her love by a trick, an imposture. He had been in great
measure forced into it by circumstances, indeed, and by his very zeal
in her cause. But it was none the less a trick; and he was too proud,
having won it so, to hold it by mere greatness of rank. He would not
avow that rank until he had justified himself in Gabrielle’s eyes.

And even as he thought of this and formed the resolve, another
consideration occurred to him. He could by this means still further
test the methods of rule in Morvaix. He had had ample evidence of the
Governor’s willingness to wrest the considerations of justice to his
own personal ends; but it would throw a fresh light upon matters to
note his conduct when he knew that the man he had first used and then
threatened was not the cowardly murderer the real Gerard de Cobalt was
said to be.

“Do you intend to trifle all day with me?” demanded the Governor, when
Gerard had remained silent some time.

“I am not trifling, but thinking,” answered Gerard. At his calm strong
tone Gabrielle took her hands from her face and with another eager,
almost imploring glance, made a half step toward him, and then checked
herself in deep embarrassment.

“You have need to think, I’ll warrant,” exclaimed de Proballe.

But it was to Gabrielle Gerard turned.

“You have no need to shrink from me, mademoiselle,” he said with a
smile, “although I can understand you. I fear I must plead guilty to
having deceived you. I am not the writer of that letter. I am not your
cousin, Gerard de Cobalt.”

“So you see that game is over,” sneered de Proballe. “What lie next,
pray? You will not find us so easy to be fooled now.”

“If I am not Gerard de Cobalt, monsieur,” cried Gerard, sternly, “you
will still find I am a man who does not take insults lightly. For your
past words I forgive you, because of your natural irritation at this
discovery. But for your future words and conduct I shall hold you
responsible--every word and every act.”

“You will of course explain your conduct, monsieur, and state as
frankly as you can who you are and your purpose in my city. See to it
that the explanation be as satisfactory as your present position is
equivocal.” The Governor’s tone was curt and peremptory.

“The explanation is due to Mademoiselle de Malincourt, and I promise
you it shall be frank enough in some respects to satisfy even you.
I had a sufficient object in coming to Morvaix--what that is for
the present I withhold--and to accomplish it I took a name not my
own. I borrowed it at hazard from a notorious dicer and wastrel of
Paris--Raouf de Cobalt.”

“But you called yourself Gerard de Cobalt,” said the Duke.

“In ignorance that he had a relative of that name--an even worse
scoundrel, it would seem, than himself--whom you and M. de Proballe
designed to use for your schemes.”

“Do you think to carry off this imposture with insolence?” demanded the
Duke angrily.

“It is not insolence. I have no cause to hide the truth, monsieur. I
had been in Morvaix but a few hours when I was a witness of the scene
in the market place, and we met for the first time, mademoiselle. I
inquired concerning you, and learning that you were the Gabrielle de
Malincourt whose praises were on all men’s lips, I haunted the gardens
of the maison in the hope of seeing you again. There we met, yesterday,
for the second time--and you may remember my passing confusion when you
questioned me as to the reasons for what seemed such strange conduct
in a man you believed to be your cousin and for whose coming you were
prepared.”

“You did not tell me all, monsieur,” said Gabrielle.

“You shall know why. I was on the point of doing so when M. de Proballe
interrupted us, and carrying me away, told me enough to disclose to me
the peril which threatened you.”

“Yes, yes, we know all about that,” interposed de Proballe hastily.

“Mademoiselle de Malincourt does not. You read the letter yesterday
of which your follower Denys had in some way possessed himself,
mademoiselle, and I need only say that that contained in essence the
story of this de Cobalt which M. de Proballe told me at length, adding
that my marriage with you was to be no more or less than a cover for
your ruin at the hands of the Duke de Rochelle.”

“It is a lie,” cried the Governor furiously.

“Then blame the liar, M. le Duc. There he stands,” and Gerard pointed
at de Proballe.

“It is a tissue of lies,” said de Proballe. “You know me too well,