“But they say that marriage before a priest is null before the law.” “Is it not enough for you, the wife of a proscribed man?” asked Morgan, his voice trembling as he spoke. Amélie flung herself into his arms. “But my mother,” said she; “our marriage did not have her presence and blessing.” “Because there were too many risks to run, and we wished to run them alone.” “But that man--Did you notice that my brother says he _wills_ it?” “Oh, if you loved me, Amélie, that man would see that he may change the face of the State, carry war from one end of the world to the other, make laws, build a throne, but that he cannot force lips to say yes when the heart says no.” “If I loved you!” said Amélie, in a tone of soft reproach. “It is midnight, you are here in my room, I weep in your arms--I, the daughter of General de Montrevel and the sister of Roland--and you say, ‘If you loved me.’” “I was wrong, I was wrong, my darling Amélie. Yes, I know that you were brought up in adoration of that man; you cannot understand that any one should resist him, and whoever does resist him is a rebel in your eyes.” “Charles, you said there were three things that we could do. What is the second?” “Accept apparently the marriage they propose to you, and gain time, by delaying under various pretexts. The man is not immortal.” “No; but is too young for us to count on his death. The third way, dear friend?” “Fly--but that is a last resource, Amélie; there are two objections: first, your repugnance.” “I am yours, Charles; I will surmount my repugnance.” “And,” added the young man, “my engagements.” “Your engagements?” “My companions are bound to me, Amélie; but I, too, am bound to them. We also have a man to whom we have sworn obedience. That man is the future king of France. If you accept your brother’s devotion to Bonaparte, accept ours to Louis XVIII.” Amélie let her face drop into her hands with a sigh. “Then,” said she, “we are lost.” “Why so? On various pretexts, your health above all, you can gain a year. Before the year is out Bonaparte will probably be forced to begin another war in Italy. A single defeat will destroy his prestige; in short, a great many things can happen in a year.” “Did you read Roland’s postscript, Charles?” “Yes; but I didn’t see anything in it that was not in your mother’s letter.” “Read the last sentence again.” And Amélie placed the letter before him. He read: I am leaving Paris for a few days; though you may not see me, you will hear of me. “Well?” “Do you know what that means?” “No.” “It means that Roland is in pursuit of you.” “What does that matter? He cannot die by the hand of any of us.” “But you, unhappy man, you can die by his!” “Do you think I should care so very much if he killed me, Amélie?” “Oh! even in my gloomiest moments I never thought of that.” “So you think your brother is on the hunt for us?” “I am sure of it.” “What makes you so certain?”