“Yes, I wanted you to go,” she replied, a flush on her face. “I could not bear to have you seem less brave or daring than other men--or to lack zeal for your religion--and then you went! And--and I cannot bear to have you go to face danger--even death itself!” “Oh, thou perfect woman!” he exclaimed, smiling; “I must be a true knight and yet you would not have me in danger.” She smiled, turning her face aside. “Yes--yes, ’tis that,” she answered very low. “I want you to be the bravest of the brave, and yet--oh, _mon Dieu_, I cannot bear to see you in any danger!” He held her to his heart again with many caresses. “What can I do?” he asked. “I cannot be both,--your constant attendant and a soldier in the field. Ah, Rosaline, love is king--not even the perils of battle can defeat him. I can love you and fight too, but I cannot flee from danger for your sweet sake.” “And I could not bear to see you flee,” she said, “and yet my heart was torn when I knew that you were in the midst of that fight in the darkness.” “Take comfort, my dearest,” he said softly, “let us forget the perils and think only of each other. Ah, my darling, I little thought, when I was in the cobbler’s upper room so downcast, that the light of my life would shine in upon me there. I loved you from the first moment that I saw you.” “Did you?” she cried with shining eyes, “oh, tell me--tell me how it was!” And he told her, Love’s language being eloquent to such ears, as it has been always, as it will be while the round world moves. Then they walked on, hand in hand, through the trees, the soft moss beneath their feet, the pale October sky overhead, and only the murmur of the leaves. They came presently to the old mill, and went down to the edge of the stream, and then he asked her again the question that was first in his thoughts,-- “Are you happy, sweetheart, tell me?” “Ah, François,” she answered, “we are too happy--’tis that--I am afraid!” “Of what, dear heart?” he asked gently, “surely, not that our love can die?” “Not that,” she replied, “not that! I have been light of heart, careless as a child. I never was afraid before, but now--oh, François, if you were taken from me it would kill me.” He clasped her close, laying his cheek against her soft one. “But that could not be,” he said soothingly; “not even death could part us save for a little while, my heart, for our souls are immortal--and they are one.” She clung to him, her eyes full of tenderness. “’Tis so,” she murmured, “our souls are immortal, I never felt it so strongly before! Love touches the heart and all the world is different--ah, _mon Dieu_, ’tis thy gift to us! See, François,” she added, “is not the world more beautiful, the sky more tender? Do not the birds sing more sweetly to-day? And is it because we love?” “It must be so, my Rosaline,” he answered gently; “the Garden of Eden must have blossomed so to welcome Eve--and love makes the world more beautiful each day.”