“M. de Baudri was at the château,” she rejoined. “He told us of the dead and the prisoners, and my grandmother could not rest until she knew.” There was a pause, and he watched her face. “And you, mademoiselle?” he asked gravely. Her eyes sought the ground. “I also was anxious, monsieur,” she said with an effort. “Yet last night you wished me to go,” he remarked, unmercifully. She turned toward him with a grave face. “I did not know until to-day, monsieur,” she said, “that my grandmother had asked you to stay with us to protect us--’twas more than she had a right to ask.” “Not more than she had a right to ask,” he replied, “but I remained for another reason--can you not divine it, mademoiselle?” The blue eyes avoided his, and the color came back into her cheeks. “I have no right perhaps to tell you now, when the future looks so dark,” he said, “and I have felt that you were displeased at my inactivity. Yet--last night--when I was facing death I longed to speak--to tell you all that was in my heart--even if you were indifferent. Love cannot always be silent--God forgive me if I break in upon your innocent peace with my life and its passions and regrets. The world was desolate when I saw you--I had lost all--and then I looked out of my darkness and saw your face. I cannot but speak--we must part now and I must know if you care--ever so little. _Dieu!_ how black the world was when I saw this tall, white lily! You told me last night that you were glad to have me go--I am a fool, no woman ever said that to the man she loved.” He paused, and the leaves rustled overhead. Her face was averted and he could not see her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely; “I did not mean to speak--but one cannot always smother the heart’s utterances! You are so young, so beautiful, so innocent--forgive me, and let me serve you still.” She turned and looked at him, but he could not read her eyes. “You do not understand,” she replied softly. “I wanted you to go because--” “You thought me a coward,” he exclaimed harshly. “Nay, monsieur,” she said, “I wanted you to go because a woman wants the man she--she loves to be a hero--” He caught her hands, looking eagerly into her face. “Is it possible?” he cried. She smiled through her tears. “I wanted you to be a hero,” she answered, “and when you went I thought--my heart would break!” Her fair head was on his shoulder now, and he kissed her, the perils of their lives forgotten, all the world changed in an instant and only Love triumphant. After a while he broke the silence. “Are you happy?” he asked her softly, holding her a little away from him that he might see her face. She smiled radiantly, but did not answer, and he went on, questioning her that he might have a fresh assurance of her affection. “You want me to go and you do not,” he said; “what am I to think?”