“And I will pray for you, Cathelineau,” said Agatha.  “But will not every Vendean pray for the hero who first led them to victory, who first raised his hand against the Republic?”

“How precious are the praises of such as you!” said he.  “Pray for me and for your other poor countrymen who have fallen in this contest; such prayers as yours will assuredly find entrance into heaven.”

He then again laid tranquil for a while, but his spirit was not quiet within him; he felt that there was that which he longed to say before he died, and that the only moments in which the power of speaking would be left to him were fast passing from him.

“Do not bid me be silent,” he said; “did I not know that no earthly power could prolong my life, I would do nothing to defeat the object of my kind nurses; but as it is, a few moments’ speech are of value to me, but an extra hour or so of torpid life can avail me nothing.  Ah, Mademoiselle, though I cannot but rejoice to see our cause assisted by the nobility and excellence of the country, though I know that the angelic aid of such as thou art—­”

“Stop, stop,” said Agatha, interrupting him, “if you will speak, at any rate do not flatter; your last words are too precious to be wasted in such idleness.”

“It does not seem to be flattery in me to praise you, Mademoiselle; heaven knows that I do not wish to flatter; but my rude tongue knows not how to express what my heart feels.  I would say, that valuable as is your aid to our poor peasants, I almost regret to see you embarked in a cause which will bathe the country in blood, and which, unless speedily victorious, will bring death and desolation on the noble spirits who have given to it all their energies and all their courage.”

“Do you think so badly, Cathelineau, of the hopes of the royalists?”

“If we could make one great and glorious effort,” said he, and his eyes shone as brightly as ever while he spoke; “if we could concentrate all our forces, and fill them with the zeal which, at different times, they all have shewn, we might still place the King upon his throne, and the white flag might still wave for ages from our churches, as a monument of the courage of La Vendee.  But if, as I fear, the war become one of detached efforts, despite the wisdom of de Lescure, the skill of Bonchamps, the piety of d’Elbee, the gallant enthusiasm of Larochejaquelin, and the devoted courage of them all, the Republic by degrees will devour their armies, will consume their strength, will desolate the country, and put to the sword even their wives and children:  neither high nobility, nor illustrious worth, nor surpassing beauty will shield the inhabitants of this devoted country from the brutality of the conquerors, who have abjured religion, and proclaimed that blood alone can satisfy their appetites.”

“Surely God will not allow his enemies to prevail,” said Agatha.