simpler, my dear child," was the practical reply, very kindly spoken. "But we have to deal with the matter as it stands. Tell me why did the Duke have him placed under arrest?"
"For no cause except—oh, I burn with shame when I think of it. The Duke believes that he cares for me."
"And doesn't he?" she asked all innocently, mistaking Gabrielle.
"Don't you understand?" exclaimed Gabrielle, quickly. "I mean the Duke himself; he—he forced the words on me after I saw you to-day. Oh, it is shameful."
"Gabrielle, it is a terrible charge you are bringing."
"It is the truth; and in such a pass as this, nothing less than the truth will serve. If it is terrible merely to speak of, what is it actually to do it? Gerard's life is in danger because he loves me and I love him. That is the infamy of it all."
For some moments her friend made no reply.
"I cannot believe it, Gabrielle," she said at length, in a voice of such pain that Gabrielle turned and threw herself at her side and kissed her.
"Forgive me, dearest friend, oh, forgive me. I did not think what I was saying. In my mad selfish sorrow I forgot the suffering I was causing you."
"This then was the reason why he urged me to-day. I understand now. It comes as the last of many wrongs, the crown of so many sorrows;" and a deep and bitter sigh escaped her.
"Forgive me, dearest and truest, forgive me," whispered Gabrielle.
"It is not you need seek forgiveness, Gabrielle—and he need never ask it. He hid this from me, pleading every other ground—policy, expediency, the good of the people, the needs of Morvaix—anything and everything but this. Ah, Gabrielle, the bitterest hour of a woman's life is when she wakens to the knowledge that her worst enemy is her own husband."
