“Don’t go to Vannes, de Kersaint!” (the old name was evidently still the more natural). “Don’t go, for God’s sake—there is treachery!”
Marthe gave a cry that went unheeded.
“Treachery!” ejaculated Gaston. His eyes lit up. “You dare to come and use that word in front of me—you!—But, perhaps, as an expert, you feel privileged?”
The Comte at that terrible rebuff stood a moment rigid, then he reeled a step backwards exactly as if he had been struck. Encountering a high-backed chair he gripped it with one hand, steadied himself, and said, in a voice that the air seemed to dissipate, “Your safe-conduct is waste paper.” His face was quite grey.
The Duc surveyed him pitilessly for a second or two; then he slightly shrugged his shoulders and turned away. “I am afraid that you have ridden very hard to no purpose, Monsieur,” he observed. “Roland, my cloak, please!”
The Comte flung out his free hand. “You are going to your death!” he said wildly. “You are mad—I have warned you . . . Where is Mme de Trélan, she might——”
“Leave my wife’s name out of your fabrications, if you please!” said Gaston like a rapier thrust, turning on his heel towards him for a brief instant. “Well, Roland?”
The thunderstruck young man approached with the cloak, and put it on his leader’s shoulders in the midst of an extraordinary silence which even Artamène did not dare to break. It was the messenger of destiny himself who broke it, with something between a sob and a laugh.
“You are all mad here, I think . . . Madame—or you, Mademoiselle, perhaps you have some influence? As there is a God above us, it is a matter of this gentleman’s life. Orders have come from the First Consul to Brune that his safe-conduct is not to be observed, and those orders have been transmitted at least as far as Auray, and probably further by this time. Can you not stop him?”
And at that Gaston flung his cloak back on to Roland’s arm, went up to Mme de la Vergne, said something to her in a low tone which caused her and Marthe to withdraw to the other end of the hall, motioned Roland and Artamène also away, and, going up to the Comte, looked him in the eyes and said in a voice vibrating with anger, “No man or woman living keeps me from doing what I intend to do—have you not learnt that yet, Monsieur de Brencourt? And, as for your story, I certainly put more faith in Brune’s honour than in yours!”