Rosaline raised her face, a look of inspiration on her delicate features. “Ah, monsieur,” she said, “you forget that the _bon Dieu_ is with us! Surely we must win, when the Captain of our Salvation leads us.” He looked at her with admiration in his eyes. How beautiful she was! “That is true, mademoiselle,” he replied, “but it may not be His will that we should conquer upon earth. The battle must be waged, and death and destruction follow it. I cannot bear to think of you and madame here in this château, in the very heart of it; for, doubtless, Cavalier will assault Nîmes at last.” “Madame de St. Cyr cannot go to England,” the girl said quietly; “she is too old for the flight. We must face it.” “Then, mademoiselle, I will remain with you here,” he declared. She gave him a startled glance, coloring slightly. “You promised your mother to go to England,” she reminded him; “and your single sword could never defend us.” “And my presence draws danger--you would add, mademoiselle,” he said quietly; “that is true, but I shall not remain in this house, I shall go to the Cévennes, and there I can still watch over you a little. I shall indeed go to England, but not now.” He spoke with such resolution that she attempted no reply. There was a pause and again Truffe barked viciously at the other end of the hedge, and a glint of red showed through a break in the thicket, but neither of the two friends noticed it. At last the girl broke the silence. “I suppose the end will come some time,” she said dreamily. “The old château will be consumed by the flames that M. de Baudri’s troops will kindle, the garden will be a desolate place, and Languedoc will know us no more. I have lain awake at night thinking of it, monsieur, and yet I am not afraid. I do not know why, but I have never been really afraid of the day when this concealment must end. But oh, I do pray that my grandmother may escape! I think of these things, and then I come out and see God’s sun shining, and hear my doves coo, and it seems impossible that the world is so cruel. Is it indeed so, monsieur? Is my life here at St. Cyr a dream of peace amid the fierce world? Can it be that this too, that I have always known, will end?” His face was sad and stern, and he looked at her with sorrowful eyes. “Mademoiselle,” he replied, “I pray that it may never end. But once I too had such a dream. I was a little lad at my mother’s knee in Dauphiné. The sun shone there too, and the birds sang, and every-day life went on. I had a father whom I reverenced, who taught me and guided me, a sister whom I loved, and we were rich.” He paused and then added, “I am almost a beggar now--but for madame’s loan which my father’s prudent investments in England will enable me to repay. I have neither father nor mother nor sister. The château is a blackened ruin, the lands are tilled by strangers. _Mon Dieu!_ my dream ended as I pray yours may not!”