“Then it was a lie, M. de Proballe?” asked Gerard coldly and incisively.
“A lie, as you know perfectly well; one in which you have already taken part, and which you have come here in person to continue to the end. It is useless for us to play like children at pretences. In your letters to me you have expressed your willingness to put yourself entirely in my hands, to do precisely what I tell you. Now, will you do it? If you will not, say so.”
“My memory for such matters is short, monsieur, and in regard to all such communications I am as if I had never penned them”; replied Gerard, after a moment’s pause.
“Then it is as I thought. You have some scheme of your own to further. What is it?” De Proballe was furious at the answer.
“If it be my own, as you suggest, should I be likely to disclose it to you?”
“You do not deny it?”
“I do not admit your right to question me.”
“Do you intend to marry Gabrielle?”
“Without a doubt, if she will deign to marry me.”
“Then why did you set a watch outside that babbler’s door all through the night?”