The day faded away, and they still sat together in the room in which they had dined, each wrapped in his own thoughts, till the darkness of night was upon them, and still no one felt inclined to rise and ask for candles.

After a long pause, Arthur made a bold attempt to break through the heaviness of the evening.  “We are not so badly off, at any rate,” said he, “as we were on that night when Santerre and his men were here; are we, Agatha?”

“We are not badly off at all,” said Henri.  “We have now what we never had before—­a fine army collected together in one spot, a promise of succour from faithful England, and a strong probability of ultimate success.  After all, what are we giving up but an old barrack?  Let the rascal blues burn it; cannot we build a better Durbelliere when the King shall have his own again?”

“Ah, Henri!” said the Marquis.  It was the only reproach he uttered, though the words of his son, intended as they were to excite hope, and to give comfort, had been to him most distasteful.

Henri was in a moment at his father’s feet.  “Pardon me, father!” said he; “you know that I did not mean to give you pain.  We all love the old house—­none of us so well as you perhaps; but we all love it; yet what can we do?  Were we to remain here, we should only be smothered beneath its ashes.”

“God’s will be done, my son.  He knows that I do not begrudge my house in his service, and in that of my royal master.  It is not likely that I should do so, when I have not begrudged the blood of my children.”

They were all to start on the following morning by break of day, and, therefore, the necessity of early rising gave them an excuse desired by all, for retiring early for the night.  They could not talk together, for every word that was spoken begot fresh sources of sorrow; they could not employ themselves, for their minds were unhinged and unfitted for employment; so they agreed that they would go to bed, and before nine o’clock, the family separated for the night.

They did not, however, all go to rest.  Henri, as he handed a light to his cousin, told her that he wanted to speak two words to her in his sister’s room, and as she did not dissent, he followed the two girls thither.  Two words!  It took nearly the whole long night to say those two words.

Henri Larochejaquelin had thought long and deeply on the position in which he and his betrothed were now placed, before he made the request to which he asked her to listen that night, and it was from no selfish passion that he made it.  In the presence of his sister, he asked her to marry him as soon as they reached Chatillon, so that when next the army separated, he might deem himself her natural protector.  He had already asked and obtained de Lescure’s permission.  The brother gave it, not absolutely unwillingly, but with strong advice to Henri to take no new cares upon himself during the present crisis, and declaring that he would use no influence with his sister, either one way or the other.