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.