“I never knew what a woman was till now,” said he; “and how much better is it that I should die this moment, with your image before me, than return to a world, such as mine has been, where all henceforward would be distasteful to me.”

“Should you live, Cathelineau, you would live to be honoured and valued.  If it be God’s pleasure that you should die, your memory will be honoured—­and loved,” said Agatha.

He did not answer her for a while, but lay still, with his eyes fixed upon her, as she sat with her elbow leaning on the window.  Oh! what an unspeakable joy it was to him to hear such heavenly words spoken by her, whom he had almost worshipped; and yet her presence and her words turned his thoughts back from heaven to the earth which he had all but left.  Could she really have loved him had it been his lot to survive these wars?  Could she really have descended from her high pinnacle of state and fortune to bless so lowly a creature as him with her beauty and her excellence?  As these thoughts passed through his brain, he began for the first time to long for life, to think that the promised blessings of heaven hardly compensated for those which he was forced to leave on earth; but his mind was under too strong control to be allowed to wander long upon such reflections.  He soon recovered his wayward thoughts, and remembered that his one remaining earthly duty was to die.

“It is God’s will that I should die,” said he at last, “and I feel that He will soon release me from all worldly cares and sufferings; but you, Mademoiselle, have made the last moments of my life happy,” and again he was silent for a minute or two, while he strove to find both courage and words to express that which he wished to say.  “How different have been the last few weeks of my existence since first I was allowed to look upon your face!” A faint blush suffused Agatha’s brow as Cathelineau spoke.  “Yes, Mademoiselle,” he continued,” I know you will forgive, when coming from a dying man, words which would have been insane had they been spoken at any other time—­my life has been wholly different since that day when your brother led me, unwilling as I was, into your presence at Durbelliere.  Since that time I have had no other thought than of you; it was you who gave me courage in battle, and, more wonderful than that, enabled me to speak aloud, and with authority among those who were all so infinitely my superiors.  It was your beauty that softened my rough heart, your spirit that made me dauntless, your influence that raised me up so high.  I have not dared to love you as love is usually described, for they say that love without hope makes the heart miserable, and my thoughts of you have made me more blessed than I ever was before, and yet I hoped for nothing; but I have adored you as I hardly dared to adore anything that was only human.  I hardly know why I should have had myself carried hither to tell you this, but I felt that I should die more easily, when I had confessed to you the liberty which my thoughts had taken with your image.”