when Gerard pointed it out to him later. But it was too late then.
In the meantime the Duchess had received Gabrielle with even greater tenderness and love than usual; and it was some time before she began to work round slowly to the subject of the Duke's wishes.
"I am old, feeble, and bed-ridden, Gabrielle, and worse than all, childless. I am done with the world, dear, and willing to give place to one who can play my part better. It would have been better, far better, had I died years ago."
"Then I should have lacked the truest woman friend a girl could have," answered Gabrielle sweetly. "But you must not yield to this melancholy. You have been in greater pain than usual, I fear, and it has tried you."
"Not of body, child, but of mind, perhaps," and she sighed. "It is ill to lag on and on, a weary dreary nuisance to all around you. There comes a time when it is good to die."
"You are morbid. Something has distressed you. Tell me," and Gabrielle sat on the bedside and took her friend's hand.
"I have been a failure, child. I see it now; and see how the people under the Duke's rule have suffered in consequence. The Duke himself has shown me this."
"The Duke?" exclaimed Gabrielle in surprise.
"The influence of a woman's hand in his governing has been sadly missed. He loved me once, child, and then I could sway him, hard though he now seems. But when I bore him no children and my helplessness fell on me, an estrangement grew between us and from that followed, oh, so many evils." She sighed deeply, and paused before she added: "Yet he has shown me it is not too late, even now."
"I cannot follow you now, dear," said Gabrielle.
"A noble without a son to succeed him lacks one of
