“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?”