“It is a lie,” cried the Governor furiously.
“Then blame the liar, M. le Duc. There he stands,” and Gerard pointed at de Proballe.
“It is a tissue of lies,” said de Proballe. “You know me too well, Gabrielle, to believe this vile slander.”
“There you mistake. It is I, not Mademoiselle de Malincourt, who know you. I know M. de Proballe’s life and reputation in Paris.”
“This shall go no further. Your name, monsieur?” demanded the Governor.
“Does not touch the truth or falsehood of what I say, and need not therefore be disclosed yet. I shall choose my own time to disclose it.”
“You will tell it now, or suffer the consequences.”
“I do not understand. Do you threaten me?”
“By your own confession you have come sneaking here in an assumed name; as a spy of some sort. We soldiers have a short shrift for spies.”
“Monsieur——” began Gabrielle, in a tone of entreaty, alarmed for Gerard’s safety, and a prey to many mingled emotions.