“Nay, Gabrielle, I believe you are too hard upon M. St. Jean and upon Mdlle. Lucette as well. It is but his zeal for you that makes him indiscreet.” “The fool, the fool!” muttered de Proballe. “When she would have shut her own ears to the truth.” “You hear M. de Cobalt, Denys. Take lesson by his generosity. Go back to your chamber, and when you are well, in mind and body both, I will hear you. Lucette, see to this.” She spoke with all the dignity of one who meant to be obeyed. “I have no power to prevail with him, Gabrielle. He urged me first to come with this story to you, and when I would not, rose from his bed and insisted on seeking you for himself.” Denys appeared to be almost spent with his effort. He stood leaning against the parapet in such desperate straits that Gabrielle was touched with deep compassion. “I am passing, I think,” he said. His face was deadly grey as he clung to the marble with one hand while with the other he felt for a paper and drew it out. He seemed so near collapse that Gerard stepped forward to help him; but anger rallied him and he waved away the proffered help with a gesture of contempt. “Pray God he falls before he can do more mischief, the meddling dog!” muttered de Proballe again. “Lead him away, Lucette,” said Gabrielle, in pain at the sight. But Denys would not go; and after an effort he said slowly with much effort and many a pause-- “My last strength can have no better use than in this for you, mademoiselle. This letter--from M. de Cobalt to M. de Proballe. Read it, for the love of God, read it.” “Denys, Denys, how can you ask such unworthiness?” cried Gabrielle indignantly, her eyes and voice full of reproach. “If it be M. de Cobalt’s letter, give it to him. Would you have me imitate you and play the spy?” “Speak not so harshly, Gabrielle,” exclaimed Lucette. But Denys stopped her and spoke again, moving a step toward Gabrielle. “He would marry you but to betray you to the Duke. ’Tis my last word. He says it here.” Holding the letter in his now trembling fingers he made a great effort to reach Gabrielle with it, his staring eyes fixed earnestly and imploringly upon her. But his fever-racked strength was gone. “For God’s sake be warned,” he mumbled half-incoherently. It was his last effort. As the words dropped from his lips, he fell prone to the ground, the letter fluttering from his nerveless fingers to Gabrielle’s feet. Lucette with a cry knelt beside him. Gabrielle had shrunk from his approach, but now stood gazing down on him, pity, pain and distress in her eyes. And Gerard stooped and felt his heart. “He has but fainted,” he said, looking up. “Let him be carried back to the bed he should never have left. He is a noble faithful fellow and has freely risked his life for what he deems the truth.”