"You have done much for an unhappy woman, Robert Tournay. The remembrance of the loyalty and devotion with which you watched over and protected me shall never pass out of my memory. The de Rocheforts do not easily forget such a debt as I owe you. In an attempt to repay it in some measure, I persuaded General von Waldenmeer to offer you an honorable position in his service. I am a proud woman, Monsieur Tournay, and it cost me something to make such an appeal to the Prussian officer, and now you reject his offer and present yourself before me so coolly and say carelessly, 'I have come, mademoiselle, to bid you adieu.'" "You think it easy for me to say those words?" replied Tournay vehemently. She did not wait for him to finish, but went on:-- "I place it in your power to serve the rightful cause, honorably and loyally,--the cause of the king; _my_ cause, Robert Tournay, and you refuse to do so." "Do you not see that what you propose would be my dishonor?" he asked gently. "No," answered Edmé firmly. "You are a brave but obstinate man, who madly pursues a wicked course; because, having once espoused it, you think to desert it would be disloyal. You are mad, Robert Tournay, but I will rescue you from your folly. I will save you in spite of yourself. I command you to stay here!" and with the same imperious gesture which he knew so well of old, she stood before him, her dark blue eyes, as was their wont under stress of excitement, flashing almost black. The tone was one of command, but there was in it a note of entreaty that went to his heart. He caught the hand which she held out to him, and exclaimed fervently:-- "I would give ten years of life to be able to obey you, but it cannot be. You do not know what you are asking of me or you would not put my honor thus upon the rack. It is cruel of you, mademoiselle, but I forgive you. You cannot understand. How should you--you are of the Monarchy, and I am of the Republic. The Republic calls me and I must go." "The Republic!" repeated Edmé, "Oh! execrable Republic! It has robbed me of everything in the world--family, estate, friends, and now"--She paused, the sentence incomplete upon her lips, and looked at him with an expression of pain upon her face as if some violent struggle were taking place within her. "And now you are going back to it. You may become its victim; you, who are so brave and strong and noble. Yes," she continued, "I will give the word its full meaning, Robert Tournay, you are noble--too noble to become a martyr in such a cause. I entreat you not to go. I fear for your safety." Tournay's head swam. For a moment he felt that he must fold her in his arms and tell her that for her sake he would give up everything in the world for which he had striven,--country, liberty, and honor; the Republic itself.