"Have you any substantial proof of this love that you prate of?" she asked, not without a shade of anxiety in her tone. "I have nothing but moral certainty of it, Madame," replied Gabriel; "but I have that." "Ah!" said she, resuming her insolent pouting. "Well, then, it is all the same to me if I confess the truth to you. Yes, I did love the Comte de Montgommery. And what next?" But next, Gabriel had no more positive knowledge, and could only stumble about in the darkness of conjecture. However, he continued:-- "You loved Jacques de Montgommery, Madame, and I venture to say that you still love his memory; for if he disappeared from the face of the earth, it was on your account and for your sake. Very well! it is in his name that I come to beg your indulgence, and to ask you a question which will seem to you, I say again, very presumptuous; but I also repeat that your reply, if you are good enough to reply, will arouse only gratitude and worship in my heart, for upon your reply my life hangs. Again I repeat that if you do not refuse to answer me, I will be henceforward at your service, body and soul; and the most firmly established power in the world may sometime be in need of a devoted heart and hand, Madame." "Go on, Monsieur," said the duchess, "and let us get at this terrible question." "I ought to ask it of you on my knees, Madame," said Gabriel, suiting the action to the word. And then he resumed with beating heart and faltering voice,-- "Madame, it was in the course of the year 1538 that you loved the Comte de Montgommery, was it not?" "Possibly," said Diane; "and then?" "It was in January, 1539, that the Comte de Montgommery disappeared, and in May, 1539, that Madame Diane de Castro was born?" "Well?" asked Diane. "Well, Madame!" said Gabriel, so low that she could hardly hear him, "there lies the secret which at your feet I implore you to divulge to me,--the secret on which my fate depends, and which shall die with me, believe me, if you will deign to reveal it to me. On the crucifix which hangs above your head, I swear it, Madame; I will yield up my life rather than your confidence. And besides, you will always be able to prove me a liar, for your word would be believed before mine; and I ask you for no proof, but for your word alone. Madame, Madame, was Jacques de Montgommery the father of Diane de Castro?"