GABRIELLE witnessed the attack upon Gerard with almost breathless fear lest he should be wounded or even killed in the fight; but when she saw him led away a prisoner every feeling was merged in fierce hot resentment at the outrage.
De Proballe retained his hold of her until Gerard had been taken away, and the instant he released her she turned upon him in magnificent indignation, she drew herself to her full height and looked at him with eyes flashing with anger.
“You have shown me your true character at last, M. le Baron, and from this point our roads part, and we are strangers.”
“I did it for your own good, Gabrielle,” he said apologetically.
“You did it because I am only a woman. Were I a man you should pay the penalty here and now. But there are those in my household who will not tamely see me maltreated, and if you consult your safety you will avoid Malincourt. If you come there, I will have you driven from my door.”
“You are very angry and therefore very unreasonable.”
She turned her back upon him without a word more and approached the Governor.
“For the moment you have your way, M. le Duc; but the day has not yet dawned when the influence of my house of Malincourt stands for naught in Morvaix. You have foully outraged an innocent and honourable man, and if I have to carry my appeal in person to the King of France, I will have justice done.”
“I will see you later, mademoiselle, when your indignation has somewhat spent itself and you can better appreciate what has occurred.”
“My indignation will never pass, my lord, until justice has been done.”
“Justice will be done, mademoiselle; have no fear on that score. What you have witnessed is but the needful preliminary.”
“What I mean is justice according to the laws of France, and not according to the Tyrant of Morvaix,” she cried fearlessly.
“In your present mood, I have no more to say;” and with a bow he moved away, leaving Gabrielle free to go where she would.
Remembering the message which had been brought to her and eager to have some one to whom she could pour out the tale of her wrongs and on whose sympathy she could rely, Gabrielle went to the apartments of the Duchess.
The two men watched her go, both moved by widely different feelings. Each had been much disturbed by her outburst.
De Proballe, thinking naturally of himself, was disposed to regret the part he had taken. With the doors of Malincourt shut against him he saw the plans for his own future advancement in danger of collapse. He had meant to climb on Gabrielle’s favour with the Duke to greater things. For this reason he had welcomed the change of plan which was to make her the Duke’s wife, and had thrown himself readily into the attempts to ruin Gerard in her eyes. But if he was to be deprived of the prestige which the Malincourt influence afforded, he would be left dependent only on his own wits and the Duke’s favour; and what a shifting sand the latter was, he knew only too well.
But the Governor was scarcely less furious than Gabrielle herself, and never being inclined to blame himself laid the whole fault upon de Proballe.
Gabrielle’s fierce resentment had shown the mistake of attacking Gerard in her presence; and the fact that he himself had given the orders only heightened his rage against de Proballe. He left the latter no reason to misunderstand his attitude.
“I am to be an outcast, it seems, because of this,” said de Proballe, in as nonchalant an air as he could assume.
“When a man blunders as you have he has no cause to quarrel with the consequences,” was the blunt reply.
“As for that, I am too old a hand to quarrel when the luck’s against me. But what blunder do you mean?”
“Everything you have done.”
“Umph! I might have expected it,” exclaimed de Proballe, with a sharp glance at the Governor’s angry face.
“It was your plan. Had I not listened to you, matters would have gone very differently. When you learnt that the man was another than this Gerard de Cobalt, you should have given me the information privately and have left me to act. But you must needs meddle in it your own way—and this is the result.”
“Did I know you would bring Gabrielle down to listen to it all? The mischief is that the man was arrested before her eyes. All women are hysterical fools at such times. But at least it was not I who ordered your men to attack him.”
“That is not true.”
De Proballe’s reply was a significant shrug of the shoulders.
“Do you mean to give me the lie, monsieur?” cried the Governor passionately.
“You had no hesitation about giving it me.”
“You!” A sneer this, of ineffable contempt, and de Proballe winced and bit his lip as his sallow cheeks paled.
“I have tried to serve you in this,” he murmured.
“You had your wages to earn, that is all. Even this man knew of your old character in Paris. Do you think I am ignorant of it?”
The taunt cut deep, but de Proballe forced down his temper and answered with a laugh.
“Put not your faith in princes,” he said, lightly. “If you mean that having first used me and now abused me you have no further need of my services, say so, and we’ll make an end of things.”
“I have no use for blunderers like you,” declared the Duke, sullenly.
“Grant that a blunder has been made—as of course it has—and say if you like that I made it; whether is it better to waste time in wrangling over it or to see how to repair it?” He paused a moment to note how this was taken, and then added: “At least you have the man safe under bolts and bars.”
“And in doing it have changed your niece’s passive resistance into active violent hatred.”
“Oh, if it comes to that, it would never have been a love match on her side;” and he laughed.
“To hell with your sneers,” cried the Governor fiercely.
“Life’s too sour a thing to be taken so seriously. I meant no taunt; no more than a fact. You would have had to force it; and will have to do no more now. Her rage will cool. As I say, you have the man and can treat him at will, either as the scamp de Cobalt or the spy I was able to prove him. Give her some few hours to think over his danger, and then see how far she’ll be ready to go to save his life.”
“Who can the fellow be?” De Proballe took heart at the question. He was not going to be thrown overboard at once; and he answered with gathering assurance.
“Nay, rather, what does it matter who he is? He came here as Gerard de Cobalt; he owned it to me; I can swear to that. Treat him as no other. I called him by his name that your people might hear; what I said to you before the arrest stands as good now as then—deal with him for that murder at Cambrai. You have him tight enough by that rope and can answer his repudiation by simply disbelieving it and regarding it as made when he found himself in a mess. Gerard de Cobalt he was, and Gerard de Cobalt I should let him remain.”
“But who is he? And what does he here?”
“Have you no persuasive methods in this Castle of yours? I have heard that many a prisoner has before now been led to confess his crime and so save an infinite amount of trouble in collecting proofs.”
“My mind misgives me,” murmured the Governor uneasily.
“Ah, that’s Gabrielle’s influence;” and de Proballe smiled, not pleasantly. “This is no woman’s work, Duke.” He felt that his words were beginning to have influence again.
“But if he be, as I suspect, a spy, in what interest is he here?”
“Even spies can be induced to speak in old Pierre’s chamber. Have him placed there, and you and I can visit him later.”
“Do I seek your advice where to place my prisoners?” asked the Governor, angrily. “But I will have him sent there,” he added, after a pause.
“Ah!” and de Proballe smiled again cunningly. “All will soon be well again, then, and this little mistake made good. Few men can long resist the creaking arguments of the rack.”
The Governor was silent long enough for de Proballe to think of another scheme.
“There is, of course, another way. The lever you have with Gabrielle is this precious fellow’s life and safety, and if he chanced to get maimed in the progress of inquiry, she would take it very ill. Promise her his life if she will consent to marry you at once. Then send him out of the city—with an escort. Escorts have been known to quarrel with their charges before now,” he added drily. “This man, if he be in truth a spy, may be dangerous. There is that monk, too, who should also be put to the question. Perchance he knows all that you need to learn.”
“I had forgotten him.”
“I had not, and one man is as good as another when it comes to getting information. Leave this to me, Duke. I shall not blunder again. Meanwhile, you can go to Gabrielle with a free hand, to give her any assurances she may ask.”
“We will speak of it later; I must think,” said the Governor.
De Proballe looked after him as he walked away, and laughed softly to himself. “What a cauldron of trouble does this plaguey love brew for us fools of mortals!” he muttered. “Here are the whole affairs of a city tumbled topsy-turvy, hither-thither, because Gabrielle has a pretty face and yonder sour-visaged loon is sick to kiss it. Aye, aye, and blood will flow too, and men’s pates will be cracked and their throats slit before his heart ceases to ache, or I am no reader of signs; and ’twill be luck more than judgment that will carry one safe through the hurly-burly.”
Meanwhile Gabrielle had carried her storm of wrath to the Duchess and had poured out her story with half-incoherent vehemence until her friend, whose sudden faintness had been invented by de Proballe as a lure to get Gabrielle away, was like to be overcome in truth.
But even a girl’s wrath, however righteous, cannot last for ever; and thus in time Gabrielle’s began to abate its hurricane force, and gradually her furious indignation hardened into a stern determination to secure Gerard’s freedom and to thwart and punish those who had so maltreated him.
“You have been so vehement, child, I could scarce understand you,” said the Duchess. “I know how it eases trouble to give it free vent; and so I would not interrupt to get you to clear the tangled skeins for me. But now let us see what we can do.”
“I am nearly mad when I think of it,” cried Gabrielle. “If this shameful deed is not prevented, I believe I shall go mad indeed. If aught of harm comes to him, I will spend my life in avenging him.”
“But now tell me, who is he?”
“I do not know nor do I care. For me he is the best, the bravest, and the noblest man that ever lived.”
The Duchess smiled, but did not let Gabrielle see the smile. She loved the girl dearly, and her heart was still young enough to sympathize even with such a rhapsody. But the contrast between this whirlwind mood and Gabrielle’s former calm and unmoved indifference to all men, and especially to all lovers, was too startling not to appeal to her.
“He should have proclaimed himself, Gabrielle, and then all this trouble might have been spared.” This was good common sense, but love and youth are contemptuous of common sense. To Gabrielle it savoured of distrust of Gerard.
“He did rightly. He could not do wrong, Duchess,” she cried. “His motive was nobleness itself. We drove him into assuming my cousin’s part; he did it for my sake and mine only; and he could not make himself known in his own name until he had justified himself in my eyes. You would not have had him do otherwise. I would not, not for a thousand worlds.”
“It would have been less romantic, but very much simpler, my dear child,” was the practical reply, very kindly spoken. “But we have to deal with the matter as it stands. Tell me why did the Duke have him placed under arrest?”
“For no cause except—oh, I burn with shame when I think of it. The Duke believes that he cares for me.”
“And doesn’t he?” she asked all innocently, mistaking Gabrielle.
“Don’t you understand?” exclaimed Gabrielle, quickly. “I mean the Duke himself; he—he forced the words on me after I saw you to-day. Oh, it is shameful.”
“Gabrielle, it is a terrible charge you are bringing.”
“It is the truth; and in such a pass as this, nothing less than the truth will serve. If it is terrible merely to speak of, what is it actually to do it? Gerard’s life is in danger because he loves me and I love him. That is the infamy of it all.”
For some moments her friend made no reply.
“I cannot believe it, Gabrielle,” she said at length, in a voice of such pain that Gabrielle turned and threw herself at her side and kissed her.
“Forgive me, dearest friend, oh, forgive me. I did not think what I was saying. In my mad selfish sorrow I forgot the suffering I was causing you.”
“This then was the reason why he urged me to-day. I understand now. It comes as the last of many wrongs, the crown of so many sorrows;” and a deep and bitter sigh escaped her.
“Forgive me, dearest and truest, forgive me,” whispered Gabrielle.
“It is not you need seek forgiveness, Gabrielle—and he need never ask it. He hid this from me, pleading every other ground—policy, expediency, the good of the people, the needs of Morvaix—anything and everything but this. Ah, Gabrielle, the bitterest hour of a woman’s life is when she wakens to the knowledge that her worst enemy is her own husband.”
“My dearest, my dearest,” murmured Gabrielle. “I am so sorry.”
“No, Gabrielle, we will not grieve, we will act. Together we will plan and save your lover, be he true man or false: for false a man may always be.”
“Not Gerard. Never!”
“In God’s mercy we will hope not, for your sweet sake. For though he be true as steel, yet is he in a sorry plight; and we, you and I together, sweetheart, will save him. We must first get him out of the Castle and the task may test our wits. Think, child, think; don’t waste time in useless repinings over the inevitable. We have work to do.”
“I knew I could rely on you,” said Gabrielle.
“First we must find out where they have bestowed him. Pauline can do this. She is old Pierre’s daughter—you know how together we saved her from ruin—and she will serve us both to the death; and so too will her father. Call her, and she will be at hand.”
Gabrielle hastened away to return in a minute with the maid.
“Pauline, we are going to trust you,” said the Duchess. “You will be faithful, I know; and will do what we need cleverly and secretly—for Mademoiselle de Malincourt’s sake as well as mine.”
“With all my heart, miladi,” answered the girl, a bright-eyed shrewd brunette.
“There has been an arrest in the Castle, within the past hour or so, of a M. de Cobalt. Go and find out where he has been bestowed. Your father can tell you. No one else must know that I have even asked. And be quick.”
“You give me hope already,” said Gabrielle, as the girl left.
“I will do more than that; child, I will give you your lover. I am feeble and bed-ridden, but not yet helpless. As soon as we know where he is, we will have a plan to set him free. I know the secrets of every cell in the Castle; and unless he has been placed in one of the underground dungeons of the keep, there is not one I cannot help him out of.”
Their impatience and anxiety made the interval before Pauline’s return seem long; but when she came, she had done her errand well and brought the expected news.
“The gentleman is placed in one of the cells in my father’s ward, miladi,” she said, “and very strict orders have been given as to his close watching.”
“Which cell, Pauline?” The girl’s eyes signalled trouble at the question.
“Oh, miladi,” she exclaimed, distressfully. “He was at first placed elsewhere and has just been moved by the Governor’s orders into the—the turret cell.” She shuddered as she mentioned it and glanced toward Gabrielle who noticed the look and the gesture.
“What is the turret cell?” she asked. Pauline bit her lips and was silent.
“A place from which he must be rescued, Gabrielle, as soon as we can form the plan;” and the Duchess warned Pauline with a glance to be silent. “While the daylight lasts nothing is possible; but as soon as darkness falls the attempt must be made. Pauline, you must go to your father again, and tell him from me that no harm must befall this prisoner, and that at the least sign of danger, notice must be brought to me. The escape must be managed to-night; and say that later I will send full instructions how he is to act. If he can offer a suggestion, let him send it by you. I will protect him from the Duke’s anger.”
“My father would give his life for you, miladi,” said Pauline earnestly, and hurried from the room again.
“Have no fear, Gabrielle, your lover shall be free to-night. We can get him from the cell where he lies; but it is more difficult to get him from the Castle. Yet where can he remain until the chance offers? Come, child, let us set our woman’s wits to work.”
“What is this turret cell that both you and Pauline were afraid even to mention to me? I saw the looks that passed between you.”
The Duchess paused for a moment and thought anxiously.
“You had best know, perhaps, Gabrielle, for you may have to use the secrets of the place. It is the place which you may have heard called the ‘Tiger’s Den.’ A place of devilish contrivances where prisoners are put to the question and where many dark deeds have been done.”
“Do you mean they would dare to torture him?” cried Gabrielle.
“I tell you merely that you may know the urgency of the matter. But diabolical as the place is, it may yet serve our purpose better than another. It stands high up in the north turret, and its one barred window overlooks the courtyard, sixty feet below. Death waits for the unhappy prisoner who thus seeks escape; and many a man has gone that way to his death. But with a stout rope, a clever climber can reach the bottom safely; yes, yes, I have the idea,” she cried. “Let me think.”
“Tell me. I am on fire.”
“One devilment of the place is this. A part of the wall with the portion of the floor next to it is false. On this the prisoner’s pallet is laid; and when the wretched man is asleep the floor and the wall together can be turned outward with sudden swiftness by the hidden mechanism, and the sleeper is shot out and down to his death on the stones below. The wall is then replaced and by another hidden trick the bars of the windows are made to appear as if wrenched from their places, and thus the suggestive evidence is ready to show that the prisoner has killed himself in an attempt to escape.”
“Can such things be possible?”
“There is no limit to man’s cruelty to man, child; we can use this window trick for our end. I can tell you how to find the spring that moves the bars; you can take to your prisoner such a rope as would enable him to escape, open the bars, leave the rope dangling from the casement to suggest he has so fled; and then bring him here, where he can lie hid until we can find means to smuggle him out of the Castle and Morvaix.”
“Would God it were dark already,” exclaimed Gabrielle eagerly. “Till the time comes, the seconds will be as hours.”
At that moment they were interrupted and news was brought that Lucette was asking for Gabrielle.