its hurricane force, and gradually her furious indignation hardened into a stern determination to secure Gerard's freedom and to thwart and punish those who had so maltreated him.
"You have been so vehement, child, I could scarce understand you," said the Duchess. "I know how it eases trouble to give it free vent; and so I would not interrupt to get you to clear the tangled skeins for me. But now let us see what we can do."
"I am nearly mad when I think of it," cried Gabrielle. "If this shameful deed is not prevented, I believe I shall go mad indeed. If aught of harm comes to him, I will spend my life in avenging him."
"But now tell me, who is he?"
"I do not know nor do I care. For me he is the best, the bravest, and the noblest man that ever lived."
The Duchess smiled, but did not let Gabrielle see the smile. She loved the girl dearly, and her heart was still young enough to sympathize even with such a rhapsody. But the contrast between this whirlwind mood and Gabrielle's former calm and unmoved indifference to all men, and especially to all lovers, was too startling not to appeal to her.
"He should have proclaimed himself, Gabrielle, and then all this trouble might have been spared." This was good common sense, but love and youth are contemptuous of common sense. To Gabrielle it savoured of distrust of Gerard.
"He did rightly. He could not do wrong, Duchess," she cried. "His motive was nobleness itself. We drove him into assuming my cousin's part; he did it for my sake and mine only; and he could not make himself known in his own name until he had justified himself in my eyes. You would not have had him do otherwise. I would not, not for a thousand worlds."
"It would have been less romantic, but very much
