“For what else am I here, Marie?” and I caught her hand in my left hand.

She stood motionless, still silently asking what I would.  And I kissed her hand.  And again the low cry, lower still—­half a cry and half a sigh—­came from her, and she drew timidly nearer to me; and I drew her yet nearer, whispering, in a broken word or two, that I loved her.

But she, still dazed, looked up at me, whispering, “When, when?”

And I could not tell her when I had come to love her, for I did not know then—­nor can I recollect now; nor have I any opinion about it, save that it speaks ill for me that it was not when first I set my eyes upon her.  But she doubted, remembering that I had seemed fancy-struck with the little duchess, and cold, maybe stern, to her; and because, I think, she knew that I had seen her tempted.  And to silence her doubts, I kissed her lips.  She did not return my kiss, but stood with wondering eyes.  Then in an instant a change came over her face.  I felt her press my hand, and for an instant or two her lips moved, but I heard no words, nor do I think that the unheard words were for my ear; and I bowed my head.

Yet time pressed.  Again I collected my thoughts from this sweet reverie—­wherein what gave me not least joy was the perfect trust she showed in me, for that is perhaps the one thing in this world that a man may be proud to win—­and said to her: 

“Marie, you must listen.  I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, you’ll take me away from them?” she cried, clutching my hand in both of hers.

“I can’t now,” I answered.  “You must be brave.  Listen:  if I try to take you away now, it may be that I should be killed and you left defenseless.  But this evening you can be safe, whatever befalls me.”

“Why, what should befall you?” she asked, with a swift movement that brought her closer to me.

I had to tell her the truth, or my plan for her salvation would not be carried out.

“To-night I fight the duke.  Hush! hush!  Yes, I must fight with the duke—­yes, wounded arm, my darling, notwithstanding.  We shall leave here about five and go down to the bay toward the Mount, and there on the sands we shall fight.  And—­listen now—­you must follow us, about half an hour after we have gone.”

“But they will not let me go.”

“Go you must.  Marie, here is a pistol.  Take it; and if anyone stops you, use it.  But I think none will; for the duke will be with me, and I do not think Bontet will interfere.”

“But my mother?”

“You are as strong as she.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll come.  You’ll be on the sands; I’ll come!” The help she had found in me made her brave now.

“You will get there as we are fighting or soon after.  Do not look for me or for the duke, but look for two gentlemen whom you do not know, they will be there—­French officers—­and to their honor you must trust.”