But Gaston gave no sign.
“Forgive me, too,” resumed Pierre rather brokenly, “for saying things so harsh now! But this is the testing-moment; you will never meet another more crucial. You could not lay before your noble wife a nobler reparation than this—to put your fidelity to a trust before the instincts of your own heart. . . .”
The words died away as his own heart sank. And had he gone too far? He knew that no other man would have ventured to say a tithe as much to that haughty and wounded spirit. But he knew, too, with conviction, that Gaston’s better self must echo every cruel word. And as the tall figure still stood motionless, the forehead leaning on the bent left arm against the frame of the curtained window, Pierre Chassin prayed as he had not prayed even for their reunion, that the man faced with so tense a choice should not fail.
“Of course, you have seen her,” said the Duc at last, breaking the vibrating silence, but in a voice that told how slowly mental circulation was coming back to him. “You have seen her . . . spoken with her! Pierre, you knew all this then—knew and never told me!—Concierge at Mirabel! It is like a nightmare!”
Indeed there was much to explain—but not now. “I only knew at the eleventh hour,” said the priest quickly. “And under the seal, Gaston; so I could not tell you. My promise to you prevented my telling her before I had time to consider whether I were justified in breaking it. That time was never given me; but had I not had to leave in such haste I should have told her. But—listen, Gaston, for God’s sake—all may yet come right of itself, for I pressed her so strongly to come to Brittany in person to see the ‘Marquis de Kersaint,’ giving her full directions, that I fully believe she will come. And if the sword lies between you and that meeting she would urge you——”
“To take it up,” said the leader of Finistère. “Yes, yes. You are right. I don’t see things clearly this morning.” He drew a long breath, jerked back the little curtain from before the casement, and the risen sun entered gloriously. Then he turned round, his figure dark against it, and said, in his voice of everyday,
“Tell du Ménars to come in, Pierre.”
The Abbé went quickly up to him and kissed him.