“Do you mean——” she began hastily, then checked herself and said proudly: “But I will not deign to ask a question. Your lordship must be entirely in error. I have unbounded faith in M. de Cobalt’s honour. It is a matter your lordship must excuse my declining to discuss.” The Duke frowned, but repressed his anger.
“I can understand your feelings,” he said calmly. “Would that the man were worthy of it! I honour you for this attitude and would gladly spare you the pain which the truth must cause you; but it must be told, mademoiselle.”
Gabrielle would not answer, and the Duke turned to de Proballe.
“You will tell your niece, monsieur, that that letter was written to you by M. de Cobalt himself in reply to others from you to him.”
“I think you and I had better discuss this further,” said de Proballe, in a desperate shift at the new position.
“It is my wish, monsieur,” replied the Duke coldly, with a glance of menace.
“Even my uncle himself will not shake my confidence in M. de Cobalt, although he may change my feelings toward himself,” declared Gabrielle, firmly.
“M. de Proballe,” said the Duke.
“I know not your intentions,” he answered, in a fever of disquiet. “I—I scarcely heard what the letter contained; and—and before I can say so much I—ought to see it—to examine it.” He stumbled and hesitated over the words.
“Do I understand, M. le Baron, that you give me the lie?” and the cold cutting words were accompanied by a look that no one could misunderstand.