I saw that this was said unconsciously and to himself, and so I made no remark on it.
“At all events, Monsieur Gervois,” continued he, “let them not build upon many whose names are here. We saw what Dejaunay became t' other day. Jussard is little better than a spy for the First Consul; and as for Gabriac, to whom we all trusted, he would have been even worse than a spy, if his villany had succeeded.”
“You knew him, then, sir?” asked I.
“Knew him! Parbleu! I did know him; and better, too, than most did! I always said he would play the traitor,—not to one, but to every cause. He was false to all, sir,” said he, with increasing bitterness,—“to his King; to that King's enemies; to the Convention; to the 'Emigration;' to the nobles; to the people: false everywhere and to every one! False to her who bore his name, and to her whom he led away to ruin,—that poor girl, whose father's chivalrous loyalty alone might have protected her—How do you call him?—the Marquis de Bresinart? No, not him; I mean that old loyalist leader who lived near Valence.”
“Not the Marquis de Nipernois?” said I, in trembling eagerness.
“The same; the Marquis de Nipernois, to whose daughter he was once betrothed, and whose fair fame and name he has tarnished forever!”
“You do not mean that Gabriac was the seducer of Madame de Bertin?” said I.
“The world knows it as well as I do; and although one alone ever dared to deny it, and branded the tale with the epithet of base scandal, she came at last to see its truth; and her broken heart was the last of his triumphs!”
“You speak of the Countess,—his wife?”
He grasped my hand within one of his own, and pressed the other across his eyes, unable to speak, through emotion. Nor were my feelings less moved. What a terrible revelation was this! Misfortune upon misfortune, and De Gabriac the cause of all!