"I know," Sir Henry went on, "I know quite well that his constant association with my wife has caused a good deal of gossip; but I have dismissed it all with the contempt that such attempted scandal deserves. It has been put about by a pack of women who are jealous of my wife's good looks and her chic in dress."
"Are not Flockart and mademoiselle also good friends?" inquired Goslin.
"No. I happen to know that they are not, and that very fact in itself shows me that Gabrielle, in trying to get at the secret of my business, was not aided by Flockart, for it was he who exposed her."
"Yes," remarked the Frenchman, "so you've told me before. Have you heard from mademoiselle lately?"
"Only twice since she has left here," was the old man's bitter reply, "and that was twice too frequently. I've done with her, Goslin—done with her entirely. Never in all my life did I receive such a crushing blow as when I found that she, in whom I reposed the utmost confidence, had played her own father false, and might have ruined him!"
"Yes," remarked the other sympathetically, "it was a great blow to you,
I know. But will you not forgive mademoiselle?"
"Forgive her!" he cried fiercely, "forgive her! Never!"
The grey-bearded Frenchman, who had always been a great favourite with
Gabrielle, sighed slightly, and gave his shoulders a shrug of regret.
"Why do you ask that?" inquired Sir Henry, "when she herself admitted that she had been at the safe?"
"Because——" and the other hesitated. "Well, for several reasons. The story of your quarrel with mademoiselle has leaked out."