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.”
“Good, Gerard! Splendidly played. Did you mark that, my lord?” whispered de Proballe, intensely relieved at Denys’ collapse. “What an actor the villain is, Duke? Said I not he was but acting with Gabrielle? You could swear that tone of his was a note of honourable innocence.”
But the Duke made no reply. He was staring with pent gloomy brows at the scene.
“You bear him no grudge for this, Gerard?” said Gabrielle with a smile of confidence.
“Should I feel enmity to one whose only motive was desire to serve you and who has drawn this further proof of your trust in me? He did and said no more than he deemed both right and true. I honour him for his courage.”
“Then I will tear the letter that appears to have cheated his fevered wits, and so end the matter;” and picking up the paper she was about to tear it when he stopped her.
“Fool! Idiot! Now indeed he goes too far;” muttered de Proballe, as he saw the gesture. “Let her tear it.”
Gerard had the strongest reasons for not having the letter destroyed, however. It was the proof he needed to make de Proballe’s guilt clear.