“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.” CHAPTER X THE ACCUSATION To Gerard the turn of events was profoundly disturbing. He had heard from both Lucette and de Proballe that Denys had suspicions of the reasons which were supposed to have brought him to Morvaix, and knew something of the unsavoury past of the man whose name he had taken; and to have all this blurted out to Gabrielle might have very ugly consequences. Almost any other moment would have been less inopportune, as it seemed; and he would have given much to be able to silence his accuser. Yet he could not appear to shun the charge or shrink from any proofs which Denys had obtained: could do nothing in fact. It was the irony of the thing that the very interference which he would have welcomed at the fitting moment should be so embarrassing now. Gabrielle had, however, only one thought. To her it seemed treachery even to listen further to the accusation. She was very angry, and her face mantled with colour. “You have been a faithful friend to me, Denys,” she said, “and are ill with your wound. Were it otherwise, your present act would part us. There is no place in Malincourt, or in my service, for any one who maligns my friends. Lucette, it pains me that you are in this. Gerard, will you take me into the house?” But Gerard’s honour and instincts of fairness forbade acquiescence in this unjust rebuke.