They had scarcely parted when the face of the spy Jacques Dauban peeped cautiously round an angle of the wall. Seeing the way was clear he came on with stealthy noiseless tread, chuckling slyly to himself as he rubbed his hands together. He paused just a moment to listen at the door through which Pascal had gone, and then passed on toward the room where Denys lay.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PLOT THICKENS
MEANWHILE Gerard himself, without any help from Pascal’s misadventure, was finding enough embarrassments to tax his wit and resourcefulness.
De Proballe, anxious that Gerard should have the fullest opportunities to push his suit with Gabrielle, soon made an excuse to leave them together. He pleaded that he must send to the Governor to arrange for the interview between him and Gerard, and left them—a move that was not without its embarrassment to Gerard, since Gabrielle promptly took advantage of it to carry the conversation back to the point where it had been interrupted in the gardens.
“You have something important to tell me, Gerard, I know. You were about to tell me when my uncle came to us. But first, I have to make a confession and to ask your pardon.”
“I am no priest, I fear,” he said, meeting her smiling gaze.
“But this is a wrong done to you. When I was thinking over all we said to-day—and I have thought of nothing else since—I remembered to my shame, that I had never given you even a word of thanks for your help yesterday, and again to-day.”
“Please say nothing of it.”
“Oh, but you must have thought me a very miser of my gratitude. And I am not that. Indeed, indeed, I do thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she cried, warmly, her eyes on his face.
“Do you think I need more reward than the knowledge that it was you whom I could help? When I saw you yesterday, my heart leapt, and I vowed——”