For Emérance de Villiers-Bordéville if, until it became known who she was, no sympathy had been expressed in Normandy, some regret for her unhappy earlier life was at last forthcoming. By her real name she was afterwards spoken of and written of in the province as a woman who had been cruelly treated by both her husband and the law, and neglected by those whom, at least at first, she had striven hard to benefit, though in a wicked way; and as one whose mad love for De Beaurepaire had finally led her to her doom. In Paris, those who had witnessed her death, and, above all, those who had heard, or heard of, her last words, regarded her as a martyr to that love. Van den Enden has also, even with all the social prejudice there was against him, at last been written of as "_un pauvre Utopiste Hollandais_." Fleur de Mai, as the Chevalier la Preaux chose to call himself, was soon forgotten or, if ever mentioned, was spoken of as a brigand who had turned conspirator. It was a month after the imprisonment of De Beaurepaire and when the execution of his two companions had taken place, that Humphrey and Jacquette were married at St. Nicholas-des-Champs preparatory to setting out for England, which country was henceforth to be their home. "We have done with France for ever, sweetheart," he said to the girl who was to be his bride on the morrow; "England must henceforth be our home. My mother has long made it hers and will never leave it; and it is your mother's land. Jacquette, will it suffice you?" "It is your land too," the girl replied. "Where you are there is my home. There my heart." Then, softly, she repeated the words of Ruth which, though not addressed to one who was a lover, have, through the centuries, been so often used by women to those whom they love. "My own, my very own," Humphrey whispered. "Ah! if it were not that it was I who took the first step to send that unhappy man and woman to their fate, I should carry no regrets away with me. De Beaurepaire was ever kind and gracious to me; I made him but a poor return." "Nay, say not so. He would have overthrown the King who had done all for him; his myrmidons would have slain you. Your duty lay along the road you took, you could have travelled no other. Had you held your peace, had you let the King fall a victim to him and those who egged him on to such wickedness--the King who persuaded your own King to do justice to you--then would you not have been the hero in my eyes that you are." "A hero. I? Ah, no! What did I do to earn that name? What, except bring the Prince to his fate?" "Humphrey. Humphrey, my love, my husband that is to be, do not palter with yourself. Did you not risk your life against those men at Basle rather than consent to keep silence upon their hateful plot? Would you not have slain that bravo had he not played the coward; would you not sooner have slain yourself than become one of them? That--that--was hero's work; as a hero will you ever stand in my eyes."