Worse! Instead of bringing a friend to raise men for the Royalist Cause, he had sent a firebrand to kindle the threatening blaze against it.
When Morice Conyers—Marquis de Varenac—sang the song of blood-stained liberty, there would be many voices to echo it as blindly as sheep which follow the tinkling of their leader's bell.
Ruined! Ruined! What would la Rouerie say? He had sworn to succeed in his mission, and had, till the last moment, deemed it an easy one.
And now?
Why! now the chasm yawned for those who pressed forward with such confidence.
A groan burst from his lips, whilst beads of perspiration stood on his brow.
It was Gabrielle who broke the silence.
"Thus Morry plays traitor," said she, very quietly and steadily. "But, gentlemen, it is not my brother that does it, but those whose influence has been his ruin—Lord Denningham and Marcel Trouet."
She was quivering with passion as she spoke, for the shame of such treachery was very bitter.
"Marcel Trouet," cried de Quernais sharply. "Trouet, the friend of Robespierre?—the——"