CHAPTER XI
THE DUKE’S SENTENCE
GERARD saw at once by the faces of all three that some fresh complication had occurred during his absence.
“I am very glad you have come, Gerard,” said Gabrielle. “M. le Duc de Rochelle and my uncle have made some charges which you will be glad to face.”
“Certainly,” he answered, with a bow to the Governor and a quick glance at de Proballe. The Duke took no notice of his salutation.
“We had a conversation yesterday concerning the reason for your coming to Morvaix,” said de Proballe. “You have not forgotten it?”
“I am not likely to have forgotten. Do you wish it repeated now?” Gabrielle smiled confidently at the tone in which this was said. Gerard spoke as the challenger, not the challenged. There could be no mistaking that.
“Leave this to me,” interposed the Duke abruptly.
“He admitted everything to me yesterday,” declared de Proballe; but the Duke waved his hand impatiently.
“Now, monsieur,” he said sharply to Gerard. “A letter of yours to M. de Proballe was read this morning. Where is it?”
“A letter was read. It is here;” and he took it from his pocket.
“The Duke and my uncle were listening to our conversation,” said Gabrielle quietly. “They say that the statements in the letter are true.”
“They may be,” he said readily.
“Gerard!” Gabrielle’s was a cry of consternation.
“Did you think he would dare to deny it, mademoiselle?” asked the Duke.
“There is no reason for any alarm, Gabrielle. On my honour you need but have patience.”
“Honour!” exclaimed the Governor contemptuously.
“Does such a word seem strange to the ears of the Duke de Rochelle?” asked Gerard, quite unmoved as he met the angry look the question drew forth. “What are the charges your lordship brings against me?”
“Those contained in your own letter; the letter which confesses the truth. Do you deny you wrote that letter to M. de Proballe?”
For one moment Gerard hesitated.
“The statements contained in that letter so far as they touch me are absolutely false,” he declared emphatically. “That I affirm on my honour, Gabrielle; but for the moment I cannot explain the affair.”
“I need no more. I was sure you would repudiate them,” she answered exultantly. “I shall stay to hear no more.”
“I should prefer you to remain, mademoiselle,” said the Duke.
“I crave your lordship’s permission to retire. I can hear no more of this attack upon my cousin. I am satisfied. I have his assurance;” and without waiting for any permission to be given, she went into the house.
Gerard was glad to be left to deal with the matter in her absence. He recognized the extreme difficulty of the situation and the utter impossibility of giving a rational explanation without telling the truth about himself; but he was anxious to have some plain speaking with the Governor, and he turned at once to him.
“Your lordship will perhaps see the desirability of explaining this new development to me,” he said.
“You are an insolent rascal in all truth,” was the fiery reply. “It is from you I demand the explanation. See to it that it is satisfactory. I am not wont to be trifled with.”
“I see no trifling in all this. Will you explain it, M. de Proballe?”
“You play the braggart well, Gerard, on my soul; and if I see your object may I be cursed. When with me yesterday you admitted everything; and now to-day you deny your own writing, and pledge your honour the very things you have written are false.”
Gerard regarded him sternly. “Would you have had me tell that I was brought here to Morvaix to marry Gabrielle in order to ruin her?” he demanded.
“It is false!” cried the Governor.
A flush of anger mounted to Gerard’s face at this insult.
“It accords ill with your reputation for courage, M. le Duc, that you insult a man to whom your position denies the right to call you to account. If you have no other tone to adopt toward me, I will retire. But with M. de Proballe the matter stands otherwise. You will guard your tongue, monsieur, or I shall hold you responsible.”
“What an impudent swashbuckler is this murderer,” sneered the Governor.
“I am no murderer, my lord,” asserted Gerard, hotly.
“He means he holds your Grace’s pardon for the deed,” said de Proballe.
“It will not save you,” declared the Governor, bluntly. “You have broken your word and must take the consequences. I will waste no time with you.”
“In what have I broken my word?”
“I will not stoop to bandy words with you. I have changed my plans; that is enough for you to know. You are no longer of use to me. But you can have one chance to save your skin. You came under the protection of my assurance. You can leave it again; and never dare in the future to show your villainous face within my province.”
“I shall not leave,” answered Gerard, every whit as firmly. “I have come for a purpose, and that purpose I shall fulfil.”
“Do you dare to defy me?”
“My words are my words and I will not recall them.”
“In God’s name, you are a brazen scoundrel. But do not imagine that Mademoiselle de Malincourt can protect you. She is not to be polluted by a marriage with such as you. More of this, and I will withdraw what I have said and have you flung into gaol at once to pay the penalty for your crime.”
“That must be as your lordship will. I will not leave Morvaix even at your bidding.”
For the moment the Duke’s fury seemed uncontrollable; but he mastered it and his tone when next he spoke was cold, tense, and full of menace.
“It may be better so, perhaps; but you shall have the chance I named. Understand me plainly. I will give you twenty-four hours in which to put as great a distance as you can between you and Morvaix. At noon to-morrow my troops will start to hunt you down; and whenever and wherever they find you I swear that you shall die for that Cambrai murder.”
“Your hounds will not have far to seek. They will find me here in Morvaix,” returned Gerard calmly. “I am not unwilling to witness your methods of trial and justice here.”
“You shall not lack the chance, I promise you. One other condition for your life I make. Before you leave the city you will return the paper sent to you from me by M. de Proballe. For the rest, look to yourself; for as I live, it will need all your wits and more than all your effrontery to save you from my hands.”
With that he turned his back on Gerard, saying to de Proballe that he would speak again to Gabrielle before leaving Malincourt. They walked away together, and Gerard turned and paced the terrace in busy thought.
One thing chiefly perplexed him—why the Duke had shewn this change of front and now wished to drive him from Morvaix instead of seconding the scheme for the marriage. It did not occur to him to set it down to the true cause—jealousy; and he racked his wits vainly to find a solution.
The only reason that suggested itself to him was one that strengthened his resolve to stay—that the Duke’s object was to rob Gabrielle of even the slender protection which his presence afforded. If that were so, it followed that there was some fresh scheme on foot to do Gabrielle immediate hurt; and in that view no consideration whatever should induce him to leave.
But in such a case, why had not the Governor taken the simpler course of handing him over to his soldiers at once? In seeking the answer to that question Gerard came much nearer the truth. If he were to run away, his flight would be tantamount to a confession that these charges against himself were true; and Gabrielle would be led to hold him for the villain which the real de Cobalt unquestionably was. He would be seen to have pledged his honour to her, only to break it in a cowardly flight.
Had the villainous de Cobalt stood in his place, he would no doubt have gladly welcomed the chance of saving his life at the sacrifice of his honour and of Gabrielle; and the Duke had acted on that supposition.
Nothing should induce him to fall into the snare thus spread for him; but at the same time he felt that he must take measures for self-preservation. This Tiger in his passion was capable of going to any lengths; and means must be at hand to restrain him.
He was still pondering this when Gabrielle came out from her interview with the Duke. Her bright looks had given place to a troubled expression, and she was very pale.
“The Governor is like a madman in his wrath against you, Gerard,” she said. “I have never seen him so moved. Both he and my uncle are now as furious at the thought of our marriage as before they—or at least my uncle—was eager to promote it.”
“And you, Gabrielle?”
“I know not how to act or what to say,” she replied with a sigh of despair.
“The tension of this morning’s scene has tried you,” he said gently. “But you do not believe I am the dastard——”
“Gerard! No. I cannot. Every prompting of my heart bids me trust you. I think I would trust you if all the world bore witness against you. But there must surely be some explanation of so great a mystery.”
“You love me?” he asked with sudden fervour, taking her hand and searching her eyes with his, in which the fire of love burned. She left her hand in his willingly and trustingly and met his gaze with a smile.
“Have I not shown it? Do you need any other answer?”
“With a love strong enough to face even this trial?” he insisted earnestly.
“I shall never change, Gerard. Nothing could change my heart—not even if all this were proven against you, as they both swear it can be. It would break my heart and blight my life; but my love would never change. And believe it I never would or will, unless your own lips tell me it is true; and even then my heart would rebel against your words.”
“I shall never tell you that,” he replied, vehemently. “Thank God there is no reason why I should not take your hand and look into your own innocent eyes and swear on my soul that all this charge passes me by as an idle breeze. You will never have cause to regret your sweet trust. That on my honour.”
“Why have they made these charges? I am so sorely perplexed.”
“It will all appear in time, Gabrielle. There is dark and evil work behind, and I am resolved to drag it to the light of day.”
“But when? They tell me you are going away again! Ah, Gerard, my heart fell at the news.”
“’Tis but one more falsehood. Only one thing can drive me from Morvaix—your own sentence.”
“Yet they urged me to counsel you to go, saying that if you stay here you will be imprisoned. What is this affair at Cambrai which they call by the fell name of murder? Do not let my question anger you; but if there be really danger, you must fly.”
“The Governor would have me fly that you may be driven to deem me the guilty wretch he describes me. There is no danger to me, but rather to them; to the Governor himself indeed most of all.”
“What would you do? No deed of violence, Gerard?”
“Violence there may have to be; but not of the kind in your thoughts. I am no assassin, whether at Cambrai or here.”
“Then you have some scheme with which to combat him? Can you not tell me that?” she asked with almost wistful eagerness.
“It is one that would speak to your heart, Gabrielle, for it will touch the welfare of all in Morvaix.”
“Now you frighten me. Would you further a revolt here? Heaven knows our wretched people are hot against him and ripe for a movement of the kind. But he is so strong in his soldiery, the end would be but useless bloodshed to be followed by even more grinding tyranny and misery for the city.”
“Harbour no fears of that. Stay, what if I could lead a movement here which, without the evil things that make your woman’s heart shrink, could yet break this Tiger’s power and give good and just government to the people?”
“It is not possible, Gerard. You speak at random. You are not known in Morvaix; and the people would not follow an unknown leader. Yet I have dreamed of something of the kind since you came. Were you but once established firmly as lord of Malincourt and had had time to win the confidence of the people and their trust, as you would win it, then—but there, it is no more than a dream conjured up by finding you the man you are.”
“May I test your trust still further? I have my reasons, God knows, for thus testing you. If I were in very truth the wretch the Duke has painted me, and yet had the means to do what I have said and came to you in the moment of my triumph and asked you to be my wife, how would you answer?”
“I would lay my hand in yours without a question, Gerard, sure that, whatever your past, you had redeemed it for my sake.” She gave her answer without a falter or a second of hesitation.
“Thank God and you for those words and that trust, Gabrielle,” he cried, with fervent passion. “If I am ever unworthy of it, may God deal with me for a traitor! The time for me to claim you so will come, and until it comes I will wait to seek from your lips the kiss of betrothal. Now am I sure indeed that all will be well with us.”
“But you will not remain in Morvaix?” she asked, after a pause.
“Could I leave you after this?” he replied tenderly.
“I should understand the reason of your going.”
“I have far stronger reasons to remain near you.”
“I think you should not. I am safe; but I fear for you; and my fear will not pass while you remain here. I am going to-day to the Duchess and shall seek her aid and counsel—telling her all.”
“To the Castle?”
“Of a surety to the Castle. She has sent an urgent message to see me.”
“By whom?”
“The Duke.”
“I scent trouble in it. I do not like you to trust yourself in that man’s power. If you go, I shall go too.”
“You are needlessly alarmed. She is my friend, and as good a woman as ever drew breath. I am often with her. I could not refuse; but it would be madness for you to think of going.”
“The term madness does not hinder me. For the part I have to play a bold front is not only necessary, it is prudence.”
“But you can serve no useful end by such a venture. The Duke might offer you violence, indeed, in his anger.”
“I can find a pretext and would gladly have a chance to get within the walls.”
“It may be less easy to find one to get out, Gerard.”
“Even so the work I have to do would not be stayed. I am firm on the point.”
“I do not like the look of it;” and Gabrielle’s face clouded.
“The look may change on closer view.”
“Harm will come of it, Gerard. Let me prevail.”
“When my work is done you shall never prefer a request in vain. But this you must not press.” She yielded then, albeit with anxiety and misgivings; and they went into the house.
Gerard hastened to his apartments to wait for Pascal and to complete the arrangements for striking the blow upon which he had now decided.
When Pascal arrived the two had a long conference, and once again Pascal advised a policy of caution.
“Don’t set your foot inside the Castle gates,” he urged vigorously. “It can do no good and may work incalculable mischief.”
“Would you go in my stead?”
“With all the willingness in life.”
“And shall the leader shirk the risk which his followers would take? Is it thus we Bourbon leaders lead?”
“That is no reason. There are times, of course, when the leader should be first, but this is not one of them. You know what sort of wild beast government this is in Morvaix; you have now ample cause to do all you will against the Governor; ride out then to Cambrai and yourself bring up the troops.”
“Shall a Bourbon give men cause to sneer at him for a coward? Nay, Pascal, you would but anger me to press such counsel further.”
“But your life to me and to us all is too precious to be risked in such a venture. I know what Dubois would urge were he here. Still, let it be as you will.”
“I am not risking my life, man. Do you think this Duke, daredevil though he be, will venture to harm Bourbon’s son when once I declare myself? His own soldiers would revolt against it. No man shall call me poltroon; and none has ever before advised me to deserve such a term.”
“There you wrong me, Gerard. But I say no more. Pray heaven no harm come of it. It was my duty to urge this counsel, but I knew you would not so act;” and Pascal smiled.
“To our plans then. Another messenger must be found to ride to Cambrai with all the haste possible and carry this message to my cousin. In it I have urged him to bring up the troops with all despatch. If your courier of this morning gets first to hand, d’Alembert will be already preparing; if not, this urgent message will hurry him. If our messenger gets quickly to him some eight-and-forty hours should see him without the city here; and I have told him to ride straight in unless a messenger from me meets him with a further despatch. By nightfall, on the day after to-morrow at latest, he should be here; and within that short space no great harm can happen to either Mademoiselle de Malincourt or to me, let this Governor do what he will.”
“’Twould be a shrewder plan to get her to ride with you to Cambrai and return with the troops,” said Pascal.
“The thought has not escaped me; and it may come to it yet. We shall see. Failing it, I have this plan: Let Dubois or yourself choose some likely place in the city to which our fellows can be brought, so that at need, should trouble come, we can make a stand.”
“That is more to my liking,” said Pascal, gleefully.
“And lastly for yourself, Pascal. Don’t return here, but don once more your monk’s gown; and when the task I have given you is completed, go to the Castle and keep your eyes open. There, if anywhere, trouble may be looked for, and your ready wit will be most needed.”
“You will at least let me be near you,” said Pascal earnestly.
“I know your zeal and friendship too well to hesitate to send for you at the first touch of danger. But I look for none of any serious character. And now,” he broke off, rising, “it is time for this visit to the Castle. I must find Mademoiselle de Malincourt.”
Gabrielle was waiting for him and again urged him not to go.
“I have a presentiment,” she said. “Let me dissuade you at the last moment from this ill-omened daring.”
“I should rather read the omens ill if I were to leave you or suffer you to go alone, Gabrielle.”
“Is there nothing I can say or do that will urge you to fly?”
“Nothing, nothing; unless,” he added with a half-serious smile—“unless you would share the flight. And that I cannot ask—yet.”
She started and looked to read his face, and after a moment answered—
“I am a Malincourt, and my place, for good or ill, is in Morvaix.”
“And where is mine if not by your side?”
Nothing more was said, and they set out, Gabrielle so chilled by a presentiment of danger that her look was serious and troubled.