THE DUKE’S PROPOSAL
There was one very bitter heart in the maison on the following morning.
Jacques Dauban had spent a bad night, groaning over aching bones and
head, brooding over his wrongs and setting his cunning wits to work to
devise a scheme of revenge.
Very ill results had followed that meeting with Lucette in the
pine-walk. She had kept the tryst and had wheedled out of him a part
of what he knew. He had not told her much; only warned her to do her
utmost to prevent the marriage between Gabrielle and Gerard de Cobalt,
hinting at dark deeds of which he dared not speak, and denouncing
Gerard as both an unscrupulous scoundrel and a tool in the hands of
others greater and more villainous even than he.
She might have got more from him, but it chanced that Denys St. Jean
had also conceived a fancy for a stroll in the wood, and had come
suddenly upon the pair in close and intimate talk. His quick temper
had fired instantly, and the consequences to Jacques Dauban had been
serious. Denys was strong in the arm, and his cudgel, snatched hastily
from a tree, thick and heavy; and there was scarcely a bone in the
writhing, wriggling spy’s body which did not ache and stab and pain.
And Lucette had laughed.
The laugh was the worst of all. It was in his ears all through the
paining hours of the night; maddening him, taunting him, and goading
him almost to a frenzy of wrath and spite. He read it as the proof that
she had fooled him; that she had laid the trap to bring the hot-headed
devil upon him; and had planned his humiliation and beating.
He would be revenged; and as he twisted and turned and groaned in an
anguish of mind even more than of body, a scheme came to him; and
in the congenial task of working it out and maturing it, his own
sufferings were more than half forgotten.
His first thought had been to lay in wait for Denys and, catching him
unawares, to thrust a dagger between his ribs swiftly from behind; but
there was too much risk. He might fail to strike true, and then--the
horrible fear of what would happen to himself in such a case killed the
plan at once.
The next thought was to hire some one in Morvaix to do what he with his
own hand was afraid to attempt, but his cunning made him hesitate to
place himself in any other’s power. And so that idea had in its turn to
be abandoned.
But out of it had come the scheme which he saw was at once safe and
sure. He would remain in the background all unsuspected even by
Lucette, and might mask his work in any way he wished; and yet Denys
would die as surely as if his was the hand which plunged the dagger
home to his heart. Aye, much more surely.
He would tell the Baron de Proballe that Denys had in some way got
scent of the scheme which had been laid against Gabrielle and that he
meant to divulge it to her.
He had some ground to believe this, moreover. Earlier in the day Denys
had put some searching questions to him, had hinted at ugly rumours,
and asked significantly about strange letters which had passed between
de Cobalt and his master. And Dauban knew the latter well enough to be
sure what would happen. The Baron would tell the Duke, and the tiger of
a Governor would find means to silence Denys for ever.
And when Denys was dead, he would tell Lucette that it was his
hand that secretly had killed him; and that mocking laugh of hers
would change to a gasp of fear of him. That would be something like
a revenge, and he gloated in fancy over the picture of Lucette’s
fear-stricken face when she knew.
“Let her laugh then, if she can,” he said to himself; and when the hour
came for him to go to his master, he had his tale ready and told it
artfully with a hundred touches which all calculated to appeal to de
Proballe’s imagination and spur his alarm.
“How know you this, Jacques?” asked de Proballe, when he had heard the
news.
“I overheard him last night speaking to Mademoiselle Lucette and saying
he had grave news which he must tell miladi at once about M. de Cobalt.”
“That may not mean what you say.”
“I fear that it did, m’sieu. The two are lovers, it seems, and like a
woman she was trying to wheedle the facts out of him. He was loath to
tell her and sought to put her off; but she got something from him.
He said M. de Cobalt was a scoundrel--he has a scurrilous tongue this
Denys--and, saving your presence, m’sieu, he said that de Cobalt was
but a tool in the hands of greater scoundrels. Shamed I am that my
lips should have to speak the words, but your lordship must know the
truth--he named you and His Grace the Duke de Rochelle.”
“In the devil’s name, this is serious then,” exclaimed de Proballe
angrily. “How much does he know?”
“Indeed, m’sieu, I cannot say. He hinted at an intercepted letter, but
he was called away soon. I can only infer he has made an important
discovery. But the girl was terribly alarmed.”
“It may ruin everything. Have you breathed a whisper to a soul?”
“Have I served you all these years to betray you?” and he spread his
hands out and spoke as if in sorrow that such a suspicion should even
be named. “That she suspects something I know to be true indeed.”
“Tell me. Quick, Jacques, I am uneasy.”
“Purposefully I put myself in her way, m’sieu. She is a pretty girl
enough and thinks, forsooth, that all men can be wheedled by her
glances. She led round artfully to the subject and plied me with
questions, all inspired, as I could see, by what this Denys had told
her. She did not find me easy to draw, m’sieu,” and he smiled with
deprecating reference to his secrecy. “But ’twas easy to see what was
in her thoughts.”
“She may also be a source of danger. She may tell Gabrielle,” exclaimed
de Proballe quickly. “By Heaven; the thing must be stopped.”
But it was not Dauban’s wish to have Lucette harmed, so he made haste
to check this thought.
“Of herself she knows nothing, m’sieu; all hangs on the man’s story,
and if both of them were removed from Malincourt, might not miladi
herself take fright?”
“A shrewd thought, Jacques. We must deal with the man alone. Do you
think he can have seen my niece yet?”
“No, m’sieu, I am sure. I watched him closely. But this morning he may
seek her--nay, he will do so. He said as much.”
“He must not,” exclaimed de Proballe earnestly. “At any cost that must
be prevented.”
“It will be difficult, m’sieu, but should not be impossible.”
“You have a thought, I see. Speak it.”
“It is not for me to offer counsel to you, m’sieu. But yesterday there
was a cavalier who afforded some assistance to miladi in the market
place. She is anxious to find him, and sent this Denys yesterday in
search of him. If you could have knowledge that the stranger was to
be found, say at some place a few leagues away, it might be possible
to despatch Denys thither in quest of him, and thus enable time and
perchance provide means and opportunity to deal with him. Miladi would
appreciate any effort to find the cavalier, and some of the roads
around Morvaix are not over-safe.”
“You have a cunning brain, Jacques,” exclaimed de Proballe suddenly,
with a sharp glance at his secretary. “Have you aught against this
Denys?”
Dauban did not shrink from the scrutiny, but answered deferentially--
“If my lord thinks I should place my feelings before my duty to him, I
have served him uselessly all these years.”
“I don’t think it, Jacques. You too well know on which side your
interest lies, and you know also that I should not be a pleasant man to
betray.”
“I am naught if not your faithful servant, my lord,” replied Dauban. He
knew he had said enough for his purpose and that his master would adopt
the suggestion he had let fall. The seed he had sown would bear fruit;
and he was astute enough not to appear too anxious and thus reveal his
personal feelings.
His plan was carried out. De Proballe sent for Denys, and after
inquiring about the guest of the previous day he said he had news
that the cavalier could be found at Beaucamp, an estate some four
leagues west of Morvaix. He expressed his desire to please and surprise
Gabrielle by finding the stranger, and also spoke feelingly about the
honour of the family being concerned to thank the stranger for the
service rendered to its young head, and thus despatched Denys on the
mission before he could get a word with Gabrielle.
As soon as he had seen him start, he hurried with his news to the
castle, had an earnest interview with the Duke, and returned to
Malincourt without Gabrielle even knowing of his absence. Thus the
train was all laid when at noon the Governor, in accordance with the
arrangement of the previous day, came to wait upon Gabrielle.
“You have made all arrangements?” was de Proballe’s greeting when they
met for a moment and were going to Gabrielle.
“I am not likely to fail, m’sieu,” was the drily-spoken reply. “Antoine
de Cavannes and Henri d’Estelle have ridden out, and know me better
than to return with any mission unfulfilled. My men serve me well or do
not serve me long.”
The next minute he was bowing over Gabrielle’s hand, which he would
have carried to his lips had she not adroitly and with unseeming
intention prevented him.
“The sun never shines for me, mademoiselle, when I have no chance
to look into your eyes,” he murmured, with glances of bold, almost
aggressive admiration.
Words and glance were alike detestable to Gabrielle.
“Your lordship is pleased to flatter, but flattery does not please me,”
she returned with a smile.
“It is no flattery, but the truth,” he protested, his hand on his
heart. “Your beauty is the fairest thing the earth holds for me.”
“The good opinion of the husband of my dear friend, the Duchess de
Rochelle, must of course be ever welcome, but I beg you to burden it
with less wealth of language.”
At the reference to his wife the Duke frowned, as he took a seat near
her.
“We see too little of you, mademoiselle,” he said next, “and rumour
says you are often to be found in many of the humble houses in Morvaix.”
“Alas! my lord, there is much distress and poverty among the people,
and Holy Church requires that those who can should minister to them.”
“Holy Church should do the work more thoroughly. I hold not with this
constant tending and pampering of those whose chief employment seems to
be to breed discontent.”
“They have unhappily but too much cause for discontent,” said Gabrielle
firmly. “You have considered the petition which I ventured to send to
you?”
He smiled indulgently.
“What do you know of these things?”
“My own eyes have seen their distress, their want, their sufferings.
Men workless and despairing, women hopeless and languishing, children
starving and crying for the food which the parents cannot give them.
We who are rich and have plenty can but scantily measure the pain of
those in want. Even when we see it for ourselves we cannot realize all
its misery; and those of us who never see it cannot even believe in its
existence.”
“Would you have me don a monk’s garb, then, and turn bread carrier to a
set of worthless wastrels?” asked the Governor half in anger, half in
sardonic humour.
“Nay, my lord, it is in no such spirit I would approach you. But you
have the power to administer relief which all others lack. I would but
have you recognize the evil and apply the remedy.”
“You make a beautiful advocate, Mistress Gabrielle, and you, if anyone,
can work your will with me. I would gladly see these things with your
eyes--to please you,” he said with a meaning glance.
“I am but of small account, and to please me is a very little thing,
and at best a poor motive for doing right.”
“It would be _my_ only motive, poor or rich. But I fear you understand
the art of government but ill. We must have money to administer the
town. We must have troops, and troops must be paid and fed, fair
advocate.”
“Why? Is force in the hand of the ruler a surer foundation of rule
than content and prosperity among the ruled?”
“The world cannot wag without soldiers, mademoiselle, and Morvaix can
only be ruled by force.”
“Must a populace be starved that the soldiers may be fat? If I seem to
speak boldly, it is because I feel deeply. And if I offend, I crave
your pardon, monsieur.”
“Nothing you could say or do could ever offend me, Mademoiselle
Gabrielle. With you I am as clay in the hands of the potter.”
“Nay, if you put it merely on grounds personal to myself, I can urge
nothing,” said Gabrielle, sadly and reluctantly.
“Yet they are the only grounds that will prevail with me,” he answered.
“The lot of these people is much to you, you say; then you would of a
surety make sacrifices to help them? Is it not so?”
“I would do anything in my power,” she said warmly.
“That remains to be proved,” he retorted, smiling as he looked
searchingly at her. “Perhaps I may take that as a challenge and put you
to a test. Your petition here”--he drew it out and opened it. “You urge
me to recall this last ordinance of mine and take off the new imposts
on food.”
“The people will starve if you do not, monsieur.”
“Well, let them starve, then. I must have money, and money can only be
raised by such means. But if I were to grant you this favour, make this
sacrifice for you, what sacrifice would you make in your turn, what
favour would you grant me?”
His eyes were glowing as he turned them upon her while waiting for her
reply.
“I do not understand your lordship,” said Gabrielle, meeting his glance
with her calm innocent gaze.
“Or is it that you will not?” he asked insolently. “Supposing I agree
that your influence shall prevail with me and that in the government
of Morvaix you and I shall act together: you inspiring with your lofty
motives, I executing with the powers at my command. If we try it for a
year, two years, three years--any time you like to fix--what would be
my reward?”
“The rich gratitude of a contented people, the respect of every man in
Morvaix; hope in place of despair, prosperity instead of want, love
where fear now lurks.”
“Pshaw! I do not seek the love of such canaille, a mouthing mob as
ready to shout ‘Crucify’ as ‘Hosanna!’ What reward would you yourself
grant?”
“I should for ever bless and admire you.”
“For ever is a long, indefinite time, and blessings and admiration may
be but cold emotions. What would you _do_?” and he once more fixed his
bold eyes upon her face.
“Again I say I do not understand what your lordship would have me say.”
He paused in thought and then laughed abruptly, almost grimly.
“It is enough,” he exclaimed, with a wave of the hand. “The thought
pleases me, for I would gladly please you; believe that I will grant
your petition----”
“Oh, I thank you--” she burst in, when he checked her.
“Wait. I will grant it if you will fall in with my plan, will lend me
your aid in the perilous task of government; will work with me and
inspire me with your sweet counsel; and if you will consider what
favour you will grant me in return. I will have my answer in a week
from now, and until then we speak no more of this. Now I have to offer
you my congratulations upon your approaching marriage, in which I take
deep interest.”
He rose shortly afterwards, and when Gabrielle held her hand to him he
carried it to his lips.
“Remember,” he said, retaining her hand and looking up, his face quite
close to hers. “Remember, we have made a compact, and you must make the
offer worthy of my acceptance--or it may mean fresh and heavier imposts
for your favourites in place of lighter ones,” and with that smiling,
half-jesting menace he went away, calling the Baron de Proballe to
attend him.
Gabrielle stood gazing after him sorely bewildered by what had passed,
distracted by doubts and striving earnestly to fathom the meaning of
the question he had pressed with such insistence.
When he had gone she went to an inner room, accompanied by Lucette who
had been present at the interview but out of earshot, and had followed
the strange proceedings, watching the Duke intently and reading there
something of the purpose which was hidden from Gabrielle’s unsuspecting
nature.
Lucette was skilled in reading love in the eyes of men, and with
quaking heart and fearsome curiosity she waited now to hear what words
the Duke had spoken to Gabrielle to inspire the looks which she had
seen him cast upon her. And when she heard them, Lucette felt her
cheeks alternately flame with rage and chill with deadly fear for
Gabrielle’s sake.