CHAPTER VI
“I AM KNOWN AS GERARD DE COBALT.”
GABRIELLE’S heart beat very fast in the few moments she stood trying vainly to find words to speak, and she was conscious of little save a whirl of strange emotions in which predominated a sort of guilty pleasure at meeting again the stranger who had so filled her thoughts in the last hours.
He broke the silence.
“I trust that scoundrel did not hurt you, mademoiselle?” he said, voice and eyes alike full of solicitude, as she noticed in her swift flitting upward glance when he spoke.
“No, monsieur,” she replied, and could say no more.
“I have set a mark on him to know him by, and he will have a reckoning to settle. By your leave, I will see to this poor fellow’s hurt. I am something of a surgeon. A soldier must be many things,” and with a bow he went over to Denys and bent over him.
This act relieved Gabrielle’s embarrassment, and fear for Denys made her less conscious of her own confusing thoughts. After a moment’s hesitation she knelt down on the other side of the wounded man.
“My poor Denys,” she murmured.
Her companion with quick deft touch found the wound, and after examining it, staunched the blood which was flowing freely.
“An ill sight for your eyes, mademoiselle,” he said.
“I am a soldier’s daughter, monsieur, and accustomed to the treatment of the sick. Is the hurt serious, think you?”
“To the best of my judgment, no, unless there be some internal injury, which is not likely, judging by the direction of the wound. It was a coward’s thrust in truth, but like most coward’s work, ill done, thank Heaven. It is mainly a flesh wound. But a surgeon should see it with as little delay as possible.”
“There will be help from the maison directly. I have sent for it.”
At that moment Denys opened his eyes and seeing Gabrielle he smiled faintly, and then frowned in surprise at her companion.
“You are not much hurt, my brave Denys,” said Gabrielle, “and all is well with me.”
Denys rolled his eyes round as if in search of some one, and Gabrielle was quick to understand.
“Lucette has gone for help, Denys; she will be back directly. All is well with her as with me.” He smiled again, and making an ineffectual effort to speak, closed his eyes with a sigh of relief.
Then footsteps and voices were heard, and Lucette, with the Baron de Proballe and Jacques Dauban, came hurrying to the spot. Lucette threw herself beside Denys while de Proballe eyed the stranger with searching glances, and started slightly at the sound of his voice as he bade Lucette be cautious not to disturb Denys.
“There has been fighting, I hear, Gabrielle,” he said.
“There has been murder attempted, uncle, and it would have been done but for the intervention of this gentleman, who drove the assassins off.”
“We are deeply beholden to you, monsieur,” said de Proballe courteously, “and on behalf of my niece, I thank you.” While he spake he was searching his memory to recall where he had seen the stranger, whose face and voice he seemed to know.
“There is no need for thanks, monsieur,” was the reply. “I did no more than any one would have done. But the wounded man should be removed and a surgeon should see to his hurts. He has lost much blood.”
“We will send for a litter. Run to the maison, Jacques, and——”
“With your leave, and a little help in lifting him, I could carry him if it be not too far,” interrupted the stranger. And with Dauban’s and Lucette’s assistance, he picked Denys up and bade them show him the way.
“You are strong, monsieur,” said de Proballe, with a smile at the ease with which he bore the heavy burden.
“I am a soldier, monsieur, and he who fights must needs have strong arms. It were best if your servant there were to run on and prepare for our coming.”
Dauban’s face scowled at the word servant.
“Run on, Jacques, and see to this,” said de Proballe, adding: “He is my secretary, monsieur, not my servant.”
Dauban hastened on then, and Gabrielle and her uncle walked in front, Lucette keeping by Denys.
“It is the cavalier who came to my assistance in the market place yesterday, uncle,” said Gabrielle.
“Who is he? I am much mistaken if I have not seen him somewhere before,” was the reply.
“I have not inquired his name.”
“He belongs not to Morvaix, I think, and seems, as you said, a man of some distinction. I will ask his name and station.”
“Had we not better wait until we reach the maison? Our poor Denys is a heavy burden even for his stalwart arms, and to cause him to talk just now might prove burdensome to him.”
“You are always solicitous, Gabrielle,” replied her uncle, with a smile and a shrewd glance. “I will leave it as you say.”
Meanwhile Dauban had hurried on a prey to mingled feelings, in which desire to appear anxious on Denys’ behalf and so hide his share in the matter was paramount. He sent one servant speeding on horseback for a surgeon and brought out others with a litter, and met the little procession as they were nearing the terrace.
Denys was laid carefully and gently on the litter and borne up the broad steps into the house, Lucette walking by his side and holding his hand.
The other three remained at the foot of the steps, the stranger leaning for a space against one of the pediments of the marble balustrade to recover his breath.
“We shall be glad to know, monsieur, to whom we are indebted for this most timely service as well as for that rendered yesterday to my niece in the market place,” said de Proballe. “It seems to me we have met before; but I am getting an old man, and my memory is apt to fail me at times.”
The question appeared to be momentarily embarrassing and, to cover the pause, the stranger breathed heavily and made a gesture of fatigue.
“You will come in and rest, monsieur,” said Gabrielle, noticing this.
But the hesitation passed, and glancing first at Gabrielle with a smile of thanks for her thoughtfulness, he turned to de Proballe and said firmly—
“I am glad to have been of service to mademoiselle, monsieur. I am known as Gerard de Cobalt.”
“Gerard de Cobalt!” both exclaimed in a breath; de Proballe adding “Our Gerard. Then of a truth are you welcome indeed to Malincourt.”
“To Malincourt!” exclaimed Gerard, amazed at the effect of the name he had given. He knew of course where he was and who they were who spoke to him; but why they should welcome him in this way passed his understanding. And when he turned from de Proballe to Gabrielle and saw that her cheeks were aglow with blushes and her eyes bright and dancing with gladness, his bewilderment was all the greater.
“’Tis the work of Providence, surely,” she said, holding her hand to him. He took it and pressed his lips to it.
“Aye, ’tis Providence,” echoed de Proballe. “Now I see why you were no stranger to me. ’Tis the boy speaking through the man, Gerard, and a right gallant man too.”
“The boy?” asked Gerard, not understanding.
“Of course. You were but a slip of a lad when we last met, with little promise of being such a stalwart fellow. But I will go and see to poor Denys. You two will not be sorry to be alone and learn something each of the other,” and with a sharp inscrutable glance at Gerard, he passed up the steps and into the house.
Gerard felt profoundly ill at ease. It was clear that some egregious mistake had been made concerning him, and that he had been mistaken for some other Gerard whose real name was that which he had assumed at random for the purposes of his sojourn in Morvaix.
To avow himself Gerard de Bourbon, while his work was still scarcely begun, was impracticable. It might ruin everything indeed; for de Proballe would instantly acquaint the Duke de Rochelle; yet to deceive the lovely girl whose face had been in his thoughts from the moment he had first seen her was repugnant to every sense of right and instinct of honour.
There was another consideration. The Baron de Proballe was represented as Gabrielle’s uncle; and knowing, as Gerard did, the man’s real character and infinite capacity for ill-doing, fears for Gabrielle herself impelled him to maintain his assumed character until he had at least satisfied himself that de Proballe had no evil intent toward her.
He could not decide what to do for a moment, and his confusion and hesitation were apparent to Gabrielle, who set them down, however, to very different causes.
There was an alcove with a seat near the corner of the balustrade, and sinking upon it with a sigh, Gabrielle exclaimed—
“Thank God you have come, cousin, and thank God more that you are what you are, a brave and gallant gentleman.”
“Cousin?” echoed Gerard, catching the word.
“Cousin, of course; what else?” and then as if perceiving some double meaning in her last words, she blushed vividly.
“I do not understand,” he murmured, and then: “That is the Baron de Proballe?”
“Of course, as surely as I am Gabrielle de Malincourt. My uncle and my one good friend and adviser—up to now.” She lifted her eyes and smiled as she emphasised the last words.
“Your good friend and adviser!” he repeated.
“How oddly you speak, cousin. Is it not by his counsel and urging that you are here?”
“That I am here?” he asked, this time with a start.
“Perhaps you are not glad to have been brought here.”
“Mademoiselle, I have seen you,” he answered with a bow.
Gabrielle laughed gaily. “How formal, cousin.”
“I am lost in wonderment. I know not what to say.”
“It is well that you are quicker with your sword than with your tongue, or it would have gone harder than it did with my poor Denys just now. But perhaps I understand. You are surprised in me. I am different from what you expected.”
“You are the fairest woman I have ever seen.”
She blushed again and smiled.
“Yet you could not look more scared were I the ugliest witch. Shall I tell you a secret? I have dreaded your coming.”
“Pray God I may never give you cause to repent it, mademoiselle,” he replied with an intense earnestness which drew her gaze full upon him.
“Mademoiselle?” she repeated, after a pause, with a touch of coquetry. “Mademoiselle—from cousin to cousin?”
He started again uneasily, for the question put a fresh puzzle to him—how to address her. Then he put it by and asked—
“Why did you dread my coming, as you say?”
She first winced and bit her lip, and then, setting her head a little on one side, she glanced up at him with a mischievous smile.
“I once knew such a horrid Gerard de Cobalt; and if you had been like him, oh——” the sentence ended in a shudder.
“What, another Gerard de Cobalt?” he asked mystified.
She laughed outright then, merrily and without restraint.
“As if you did not know. How could there be any other Gerard de Cobalt but you? You were a horrid boy, you know; really horrid; cruel, rough, unkind just for unkindness’ sake. And you used to hate me—at least you said so; and I was glad of it.”
“I must have been worse than unkind—a fool, I think, mademoiselle. Boys generally are,” he replied laughing.
“Mademoiselle again?”
“What should I say?” he asked, growing bolder the deeper he allowed himself to plunge into the mystery, and getting less and less willing to have it cleared up.
“My name is Gabrielle,” she said half shyly, “unless you think mademoiselle prettier.”
“Gabrielle.” He spoke the name in a soft tender tone with such a sweet reverence that she lowered her gaze and sighed.
“So I was a horrid boy, was I?” he asked lightly, breaking the pause. She looked up then all smiles.
“Don’t you remember? But of course you didn’t think so yourself, and I daresay thought me a little spitfire. You used to pinch me slyly and kick me, and laugh when you hurt me. I wonder I have not the bruises to this day. And have you forgotten that time I flew at you and boxed your ears?”
“I wonder I can have forgotten,” he laughed.
“Yes, you had snared a blackbird and were pulling out its feathers, and mad at the sight I rushed at you and struck you, and you let it go in your surprise. I hated you for that, Gerard, I did indeed.”
“Serve me right, too.”
“And you called me such names.”
“Not Gabrielle?” he interposed.
“No, and not mademoiselle,” she retorted laughing. “But cat, and beast, and fury, and everything, and you pulled my hair.”
“That hair?” he asked, laughing again. “What sacrilege.”
“Yes, this hair,” she nodded gaily. “Oh, it is no wonder that when they told me you were coming to—well, you know why—that I was frightened lest you should be just an older edition of that cruel little ugly horror.”
“Ugly, too?”
“Yes, ugly. You were not a bit good-looking even for a boy. I should never have guessed you were the same;” and then she put her finger to her lip in some dismay as if to check herself.
“I think I am glad to have disappointed you.”
“And do you think I have changed?” she asked, with a challenge in her eyes.
“You are older.”
“What, in fifteen years? How strange!”
“Is it fifteen years since you saw that pleasant youth you have described?”
“Is that to put off my question? Have I disappointed you as you have me?”
“I had not even an idea of how beautiful you would be.”
“Nay, if you flatter me, I shall not like it.”
“It is no flattery—Gabrielle,” and the low earnest tone thrilled her with delight. She thought a moment and then, looking up, said simply as she smiled into his eyes—
“It is not unmaidenly, seeing why you have come to Morvaix, for me to say what pleasure such words give me, Gerard. Oh, I think I must be the happiest girl in all fair France to-day.”
“Seeing why I have come?” he repeated questioningly.
“Gerard!” The tone was one of reproach, and she looked troubled. “You have come for—for a purpose, haven’t you?” Her eyes were on the ground as she spoke hesitatingly.
“Yes, and with God’s help, I will carry it through.”
She looked up then, but the smile on her face faded quickly away as she seemed not to read in his eyes what she sought.
“And your purpose is—what?” she asked, in a strange tone, very subdued, quiet and anxious.
“Even to you I cannot tell it yet,” he answered.
“Cannot tell it me, Gerard? But——” she broke off and repeated wonderingly: “‘Cannot tell it me—yet?’”
“But you shall know it at the first moment I can open my lips, and from what I have learnt of you, I know your sympathy will be with me and it.”
Gabrielle felt the colour leaving her cheeks. What could he mean? There must be some hindrance to the plan of their marriage. He had said nothing of this in his letters to her uncle—nor a word to her.
“You have turned pale, mademoiselle. Are you ill?” he asked kindly, seeing the change in her.
“No, no; but I fear I don’t understand. I have been unmaidenly and forward. But I did not know. You have said nothing of this obstacle in your letters to my uncle or to me. I thought it was settled. But I was wrong, of course; we all have been. Yet I thought when you came with no word—oh, cousin, was it manly or honourable of you not to tell me at once, not to check me? Oh, I know not what to say.”
He was as much disturbed by the change in her as he was troubled by the sight of her distress and puzzled by her words.
“Obstacle? What obstacle? What have I said to disturb you thus?” he asked. “I would do anything in the world for you.”
“You shame me, cousin.”
“Gabrielle, on my honour, I know not what you mean?” he cried, with whole-hearted earnestness.
She rose then and looked at him, with a great effort to be calm.
“As God is my judge, I would give my life to serve you,” he protested passionately. “I repeat, I know not what you mean.”
“What your purpose may be, I cannot guess; but matters have gone too far for us to fence with words or feign ignorance of facts. You can have had but the one purpose in coming to Morvaix and to Malincourt. You have already expressed it openly in your letters. It is to further my dead parents’ wish for our marriage.”
He fell back a pace in his intense wonderment, and an exclamation of astonishment rushed to his lips only to be checked with a supreme effort. But she saw the look and noted the gesture, and her pride took instant offence.
“I will leave you, monsieur; perhaps you will explain this obstacle to my uncle with more candour than you have deemed necessary to show to me.”
He conquered his surprise, and the wounded pride in her eyes and voice roused him. To him she was more than aught else in the world, and instantly he took the resolve to sweep away the misunderstanding by explaining all—his purpose in Morvaix, and that he was not the man she believed. He could not let her go in anger, let the cost be what it would.
“One moment. As I live, there is no obstacle on my side to—to our marriage. That I swear. But I will explain all.”
She paused and turned, her foot already on the steps to leave him; and his heart leapt to see the light that his words brought back to her eyes.
“You have tried me sorely, cousin. I——” she faltered and smiled and then leant for support against the balustrade.
“God knows I would not cause you even a moment’s uneasy thought,” he said earnestly. “I have done wrong, I know, but the temptation was a sweet one. I had no thought to deceive you when I came——”
He got no farther, for at that moment de Proballe stepped from the house and crossed the terrace to them, saying cheerily as he approached—
“Well, are you getting to know one another, eh?”
“What I have to say is for your ears alone. I pray your patience and will give you ample reasons,” said Gerard in a quick undertone; adding aloud: “Yes, monsieur, we are close to a complete understanding. Is it not so, cousin?”
“I hope so,” she answered, mystified still, but smiling.
“Poor Denys is better, but very weak, and is asking for you.”
“With your leave I will go to him,” she said to Gerard.
“I sent her off that we may have a talk and an understanding, too,” said de Proballe, when Gabrielle had gone into the house. “Let us walk here in the open where no ears can catch our words.”
He led the way to where a fountain stood among the flower beds surrounded by a broad path, and Gerard accompanied him, in bewildered curiosity as to what this new development was to be.