“When I came to you to-day,” he went on, “I knew that I had nothing to offer you but my faithful love and my life, which has been a life without value.  In exchange for that I asked too much.  I knew it, and you knew it, too.  I know well enough what sort of man you ought to marry, and what a brilliant career you could make for yourself in the proper place—­what great influence you could wield.  But I asked you to give that all up, and I hadn’t anything to offer in its place—­nothing but love.  My Queen, give me a chance now to offer you more!  If I can bring back your brother or news of him, I can come to you without shame and ask you to marry me, because if I can succeed in that you will know that I can succeed in other things.  You will be able to trust me.  You’ll know that I can climb.  It shall be a sort of symbol.  Let me go!”

The girl broke into a sort of sobbing laughter.

“Oh, divine madman!” she cried.  “Are you all mad, you Ste. Maries, that you must be forever leading forlorn hopes?  Oh, how you are, after all, a Ste. Marie!  Now, at last, I know why one cannot but love you.  You’re the knight of old.  You’re chivalry come down to us.  You’re a ghost out of the past when men rode in armor with pure hearts seeking the Great Adventure.  Oh, my friend,” she said, “be wise.  Give this up in time.  It is a beautiful thought, and I love you for it, but it is madness—­yes, yes, a sweet madness, but mad, nevertheless!  What possible chance would you have of success?  And think—­think how failure would hurt you—­and me!  You must not do it, Ste. Marie.”

“Failure will never hurt me, my Queen,” said he, “because there are no hurts in the grave, and I shall never give over searching until I succeed or until I am dead.”  His face was uplifted, and there was a sort of splendid fervor upon it.  It was as if it shone.

The girl stared at him dumbly.  She began to realize that the knightly spirit of those gallant, long dead gentlemen was indeed descended upon the last of their house, that he burnt with the same pure fire which had long ago lighted them through quest and adventure, and she was a little afraid with an almost superstitious fear.  She put out her hands upon the man’s shoulders, and she moved a little closer to him, holding him.

“Oh, madness, madness!” she said, watching his face.

“Let me do it!” said Ste. Marie.

And after a silence that seemed to endure for a long time, she sighed, shaking her head, and said she: 

“Oh, my friend, there is no strength in me to stop you.  I think we are both a little mad, and I know that you are very mad, but I cannot say no.  You seem to have come out of another century to take up this quest.  How can I prevent you?  But listen to one thing.  If I accept this sacrifice, if I let you give your time and your strength to this almost hopeless attempt, it must be understood that it is to be within certain limits.  I will not