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.”