"Do you mean to say," said Gabriel, horror-stricken, "that I have given you any reason to believe anything of the sort?"
"No, Monsieur le Comte; no, indeed, for you were bound to secrecy, I can see. Therefore I do not even ask you for a positive assurance that I am right, not even a word, if you prefer not. But if I am mistaken, a gesture, a glance of the eye, or your silence, even, will be sufficient to enlighten me."
Gabriel, meanwhile, sorely perplexed, was recalling the last part of the obligation he had given the Duc de Guise.
Upon his honor as a gentleman he had bound himself not to allow any person to divine or even to suspect, from any word or allusion or gesture on his part, what was taking place at Amboise.
As he kept silence for a long while, the Baron de Castelnau, whose eyes were riveted upon Gabriel's face, spoke again.
"Do you mean to say nothing more?" said he. "You are silent; I understand you, and shall act accordingly."
"What do you propose to do?" asked Gabriel, hastily.
"To warn La Renaudie and the other leaders, as you advised me to do in the first place, that they must cease their preparations, and to announce to our friends when they reach here that some one in whom we have perfect confidence has made known to me—has made known to me probable treachery—"
"But there is nothing of the sort!" Gabriel hurriedly interrupted. "I have given you no information at all, Monsieur de Castelnau!"
"Count," rejoined Castelnau, seizing Gabriel's hand in a grasp that spoke louder than his words, "may not your reticence itself be a warning, and our salvation? And once put on our guard, then—"