DISTRESSED as Gerard had been by the necessity to deceive Gabrielle, into which he had allowed himself to be drawn, he had no such qualms in regard to her uncle. He was convinced that, as Pascal had said, if there was evil work on foot, de Proballe would be concerned in it.
That such a man should be found established at Malincourt, posing as the true friend of an innocent girl, and regarded by her as an honourable and confidential adviser, was in itself enough to rouse suspicion.
He decided at once, therefore, to fall in with de Proballe’s mood, whatever it might be, and to lead him to talk as freely as he would.
“Why did you not come straight to Malincourt, Gerard, or at any rate let me know of your presence in Morvaix, that I might have word with you?”
“If I was doubtful of my reception by Gabrielle, can you blame me?” asked Gerard in reply, dropping readily into his assumed character.
“But I had told you exactly how matters were with her.”
“But I had not seen her with my own eyes.”
“Psh, a sentimental fool’s reason,” exclaimed de Proballe, contemptuously.
“Yet, I am no sentimental fool, monsieur.”
“If you were no worse, you would be lucky. Your kinsman, Raouf, in Paris, gave me your history.”
“He may have lied,” answered Gerard, calmly, suppressing a start at the mention of the name and the coincidence it suggested. “But let it pass. What I have done, I have done. If it comes to that, Raouf gave me no saintly account of you.”
“Paris is not Morvaix, and what I do there or here is no concern of yours or his,” was the curt, half angry reply.
Gerard laughed. “As I said, Raouf may have lied. It is of no account; but I cannot see that in choosing my own method I have done so ill.”
De Proballe smiled unpleasantly.
“You played boldly. I did not know you had such courage—except in your cups. Yes, you have made a good impression on Gabrielle; but have none the less done ill.”
“In what way?”
“In saving that fool to-day. You were too hasty. You should have let one of the swords find his heart, and then have played the rescuer of Gabrielle. The men wouldn’t have touched you.”
“Why not?” asked Gerard quickly. “They tried.”
“Because you stood between them and Denys.”
“Read me the riddle.”
“Denys has found out something of the real purpose of this marriage; how much I know not; and his silence is necessary to our success. The Duke will not thank you.”
“The Duke!” exclaimed Gerard hastily, bewildered by this unexpected reference to the Governor in connection with the marriage. A sudden sharp glance from his companion warned him that he had blundered, so he forced a laugh, and added: “The Duke should label his men if he does not want them hurt.”
“Are you a fool?” retorted de Proballe, sharply. “Had you come straight to me, this would have been avoided. I tell you the man is dangerous. Is not that enough?”
“No; it depends on how much he knows.”
“He knows that you are here to marry Gabrielle and that in doing so you are merely playing catspaw; and he suspects the real purpose, that it is to cover the Duke’s plan in regard to her.”
“Then he suspects what an infernal villain Gerard de Cobalt must be!”
“He is not alone in that suspicion,” was de Proballe’s sneering comment.
“True. I think I’m beginning to suspect it myself,” answered Gerard drily.
“If you were anything else, you’d be little use to us; so let us have no cant here.”
“I am here to play my part,” said Gerard smoothly, repressing his anger.
“It is a part many a better man would gladly play. You will have wealth, a beautiful wife, a high position here, and a pardon for that Cambrai affair. Surely all that a man could wish.” He regarded Gerard with a sly covert smile as he reeled off these advantages.
Gerard’s face was as impassive as that of a statue, while his thoughts were busy seeking the real meaning beneath the words. He paused a moment, and then answered in a level tone—
“True, but you omit the price I have to pay.”
“Price,” cried de Proballe, with another sneer. “Price! Honour rather, you mean. The Duke de Rochelle is all but of the Royal blood; and better men than you will ever be have been glad to pay no more for their careers than mere marital complaisance.”
“By God!” exclaimed Gerard, his voice vibrating with feeling as he realized now the full infamy of the plot and the degradation of the part cast for him; then catching de Proballe’s eyes fixed on him, he forced down his rage, and said coolly: “You are right, monsieur; Gerard de Cobalt cannot afford to be particular. He has that pardon to gain.”
“Now perhaps you understand the harm you did in saving that meddler’s life.”
“I see now that if I had had all these thoughts in my mind I would have acted differently.”
“You will see the Duke to-day, and will find him in a gracious mood.”
“It is not the reputation he bears. They call him the Tiger, I hear.”
“His enemies do; those who seek to thwart him. He saw Gabrielle to-day, and what passed between them pleased him greatly. She urged him to relax the rigour of his rule here; and he half consented. His plan is that he and she shall take frequent counsel together for the government of the people—when she is your wife. He will thus see much of her in many a private conference, and the people will have cause to bless her name for her good influence. Some of the blessings may come your way, Gerard, for the good change will date from the time of your marriage. You will be a popular man in Morvaix.” He ended with another of his dry cynical laughs, and looked for his companion to join in.
But Gerard was too deeply moved even to simulate laughter.
“There is yet one thing that perplexes me—has perplexed me from the first. What is your part in this? Raouf did not paint you exactly as a type of self-denial, willing to stand aloof when others were reaping rich gains.”
“My plans, like my reasons, are my own,” returned de Proballe, with a frown. “You shall know them all in time.”
“As you please. It is enough for me to know that you have them. And I have enough on my side to keep my wits busy.”
“Had you but let the Governor’s men work their way with that St. Jean all would have been well; but I scent danger there. Some other means of silencing him must be found. For your part you have but to push your suit with Gabrielle with all speed, and hasten on the marriage. In that, the success you have gained to-day will help you. Your act yesterday in the market place almost turned her head; at any rate, it went to her heart. But now, tell me of yourself, something of the story of your life. She will surely question you, and you must have a gallant tale to tell.”
“My past, like your reasons, is my own. Should she question me I shall know how to answer.”
“From whence came you here, and how?”
“That I am here may suffice. I have come to do my task; and believe me I shall not fail to satisfy even the Duke himself of my thoroughness.”
“You can be close-lipped, it seems,” said de Proballe, irritably.
“No bad quality surely, when such work as mine has to be done.”
“If you will not talk then, let us go into the house. You will of course bide at Malincourt. Have you a servant and apparel suited to your new position? You are but indifferently clad now.”
“I am but a courier of fortune; but I have a servant, and can provide for all the needs of even my high position at Malincourt.”
“You are a strange fellow, Gerard, and altogether unlike what your letters had led me to expect. But take your own way.”
“I have done that always, and shall not change even in Malincourt. I have a matter that calls me to the town, and will return to the maison within an hour or so, by your leave,” and without another word he turned and walked away, leaving de Proballe staring after him in high dudgeon at his unexpected independence.
Gerard plunged along at a quick pace, his brows pent and frowning as he thought over the extraordinary situation in which he found himself involved. He made his decision with characteristic promptitude. He would return to Malincourt to see the thing through, to watch over Gabrielle, and to play out the part for which he had been thus unexpectedly cast.
There was no thought now of undeceiving her as to his real character. That was now out of the question, impossible, for a time at least, for her own sake no less than for his own.
The explanation need not be long delayed. Once let him get the proofs of the Governor’s connivance at the scheme—and these he hoped to get in the interview which de Proballe said was to take place at once—and he would strike the power from the Governor’s hands by virtue of the authority which his father, the Duke of Bourbon, as Suzerain of the province, had conferred upon him.
But the proofs must be very clear. The times were such that too close a scrutiny was not likely to be made into the private lives of those holding authority. The man who ruled his province in such a way as to relieve those above him of trouble, and who was always to be relied on to find troops should they be needed, could make sure of wide tolerance in any matters of his private life.
Moreover, the Duke de Rochelle was connected with the blood royal; he could count therefore upon high patronage and help; and there were in this connection many reasons why Gerard must walk warily. There had been trouble between the House of Bourbon and the throne; and the King and his advisers would welcome only too gladly any pretext to step in and wrest this last lingering remnant of Bourbon suzerainty from the once all-powerful family.
Gerard felt all the responsibility that rested on him; and it was in this respect that de Proballe’s last words were of such importance. The Governor was betraying himself by mixing up a personal intrigue with the work of Government. Not content with having misgoverned the people and overtaxed them to the verge of revolt—offences which might have been overlooked in view of the powerful force of soldiery he had raised and trained—he was now contemplating a complete reversal of policy in order to please Gabrielle for his own evil personal ends.
Here was Gerard’s chance, and he was quick to see it and to determine to use it. He would continue the acted lie of his false character until he had secured from the Governor himself an admission of his real purpose, or had found other incontestable proof of it—de Proballe’s word being less than valueless; and the moment he was satisfied he would strike.
To this end he sought out the young officer, Pascal, a close intimate friend, told him much of what he had learned, and prevailed on him to doff the monk’s cowl and assume the character of his servant at Malincourt during the few hours or days he might have to remain there.
Pascal, to whom devilment in any form was welcome enough, entered readily into the spirit of the adventure, and agreed instantly. Together they obtained such apparel as was necessary, and returned to Malincourt together.
“I hope the old rat, de Proballe, won’t recognize me,” said Pascal. “I once won some three hundred crowns from him, and they say he never forgets a man who has beaten him with the dice box.”
“I am full of anxiety over this, Pascal; for Heaven’s sake avoid every chance of a mishap,” replied Gerard earnestly.
“I’ll keep out of his way. Have no fear for me. Lest he should know my voice, I’ll play the dumb man.”
“No, no, not that. No buffoonery, on any account.”
“Well, then, you can say I have taken a vow of silence on account of the past trippings of my tongue. The reason would be true enough.”
“There is need for nothing of the kind. Keep in the background with your eyes and ears open and your lips closed; shun the women as you would the plague, and all will be well. Especially, shun the women.”
The handsome young fellow laughed.
“I’ll shun them, if they be not too pretty; but there are limits, Gerard. I haven’t touched a pair of lips since I’ve been in the city; although I must say a monk’s cowl gives rare opportunities. Were I not a soldier, on my faith I think I’d be a monk.”
Gerard was received at the maison with such ceremony as became a person of his consequence. Gabrielle and her uncle greeted him: Gabrielle with such smiles and gladness that Pascal ceased to wonder at his enthusiasm for his new rôle; and de Proballe with many significant shrugs and looks and equivocal phrases. The rest hailed him as the chosen husband of their beloved mistress; and the story of his bravery and prowess in the rescue of Denys having spread, they welcomed him with acclamation.
Pascal, as their new lord’s servant, would also have been made much of; and seeing many ruddy lips and bright eyes among the women, he would gladly enough have responded had not Gerard’s injunctions of caution been still strong upon him. He feigned fatigue, therefore, and asked to be shown at once to Gerard’s apartments; and going there, he at once fell into much deeper waters than any which could have threatened him in any other part of the house.
The apartments were close to the room where Denys lay with Lucette in attendance. Denys was better; but when he had been told that his preserver was no other than Gerard de Cobalt, he had taken the news very strangely and had broken out into a torrent of abuse of him. Then he had gone on to tell Lucette things which, added to what she had heard from Jacques Dauban on the previous evening, had frightened her profoundly.
But this sudden violent passion so weakened Denys that a relapse followed; and thus Lucette had been left with a half-told tale which he had conjured her to carry to Gabrielle at once. She was at her wits’ end what to do, and when she heard that Gerard had arrived and was to be lodged in rooms adjoining, she found occasion to loiter about until she encountered Pascal.
Her pretty face and distracted looks went straight to his sympathies, and when of her own motion she spoke to him, he soon forgot all about Gerard’s counsel.
“You are here with M. de Cobalt, monsieur?” she said.
“Certainly, mademoiselle, as certainly as that you are here with some trouble of another kind than a captious master. Although trouble may be a master of any of us for that matter.”
Lucette was watching him, and found him good to look upon. Handsome, frank-faced and clear-eyed, with the stamp of truth.
“You, too, are a soldier, monsieur?”
“When I am not anything else, mademoiselle. But in times like these a man plays many parts.” She has handsome eyes, and knows how to use them, was his thought.
“You have been long with M. de Cobalt, no doubt?”
“I don’t know, mademoiselle,” was his unexpected reply, given with an engaging smile.
He has a dangerous smile, this servant, and speaks with an air, said Lucette to herself.
She is going to try and pump me, was Pascal’s unspoken warning to himself.
“Don’t know, monsieur! How can that be?”
“It depends upon what we reckon long; whether by lapse of time—weeks, months, years—or by the events which have occurred. A man may know a maiden for years until he marry her, and then find that he has never known her at all.”
“Ah, you are a wit.”
“What I am I myself know not; but I know what I am not—and I am not a stream in which people, even pretty maids, can fish with a chance of catching much.”
“There is another thing you are not, monsieur,” retorted Lucette, smiling.
“There are many. I am not my master’s diary, for others to read,” he answered with a laugh and a shake of the head.
“Neither are you a servant, monsieur, unless you wear your master’s jewels on your fingers.”
“By my shroud, but you have keen eyes as well as pretty ones; but even sharp eyes may lead one astray. I wear this jewel by my master’s whim,” he replied unabashed.
“May I see it closer?”
“Why not—’tis but a paste,” and he held it up.
“You take great care of your hands, monsieur, for a serving soldier man,” was her comment, so unexpected that Pascal started and laughed.
“Do you think I do hard work?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“Your clothes, too, are new and ill-fitting—they fit you so ill, indeed, that I would swear you have never worn the like before.”
“Count not the misfit to me for my sin,” replied Pascal gaily. “’Tis that of the rascal who made them. You interest me, mademoiselle; may I ask who you are?”
“Your voice, your manner, your tone, the very bow and air with which you asked that question, everything about you belies the servant, monsieur,” continued Lucette. “I am Mademoiselle de Malincourt’s foster sister and friend, Lucette de Boisdegarde; and I am on my way to tell her of this discovery of mine and other things. You bar my path, monsieur,” she said with dignity, as Pascal in some dismay put himself before her. “If you are in truth a servant, I order you to stand aside; if you are a gentleman, I ask you.”
“If I detain you a moment, it is only to assure you that Mdlle. de Malincourt and yourself can have no more faithful friend and well-wisher than myself.”
“Your name, monsieur?”
“Pascal de—Pascal Tourelle, at your service.”
She was quick to see the slip, and pressed home a thrust at once.
“On your honour?”
“Pascal, on my honour; Tourelle, during my service with my master.”
She smiled, partly at the evasion, but more at his manner of making it.
“If you were not in this service of which you speak so readily, how would you have finished that sentence? Pascal de—what?”
“That is my unhappy secret, mademoiselle; I beg your consideration,” and his tone suggested a melancholy trouble.
But Lucette smiled.
“Had you been a servant truly, your honour would not have stayed you from deceiving me. If I do not go now to mademoiselle, will you tell me all you know of this M. de Cobalt?”
“I will tell you this, on my honour, and your honour will prevent your asking more,” he answered after a moment’s consideration. “A braver soldier, a more honourable knight, a more gallant gentleman, never trod this earth than he in whose service you now find me.”
She looked at him searchingly, and believed him. But this very belief only sufficed to perplex her the more after Denys’ story.
“One question more I must put. Do you know if he was ever at Cambrai? Do not answer against your will, nor if you cannot speak truly on your honour.”
“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.