“I trust he has too much real pride to feel himself disgraced, because he is not loved.  I grieve for him, for I love him myself; and I know his affections are strong; but I think it is better he should know the truth at once, and it must be from your own lips.  I cannot tell him you will not accept him before he himself makes the offer.”

Agatha did not reply; she could not explain even to her brother all that she felt.  She could not point out to him how very weak—­how selfish his friend was.  She could not tell him that his bosom friend would suffer ten times more from the wound to his pride in being rejected, than from the effects of disappointed love; but she rightly judged her lover’s character.  Adolphe Denot loved her as warmly as he was capable of loving ought but himself; but were she to die, his grief would be very short lived; he would not, however, endure to see that she preferred any one to himself.

“I am sorry for this, Agatha—­very sorry,” continued her brother; “I had fondly hoped to see you Adolphe’s wife, but it is over now.  I will never press you against your will.”

“My own Henri—­how good you are to your Agatha.  I knew you would not torture me with a request that I should marry a man I did not love.  I grieve that I interfere with your plans; but I will live with you, and be your old maid sister, and nurse and love your children, and they shall love their old maid aunt.”

“There are other men, Agatha, besides Adolphe.  Perhaps your next request will be a very different one; perhaps, then, you will be singing the praises of some admirer, and asking me to give him a brother’s place in my heart.”

“And when I ask it, you will do so; but Henri,” and she put her hands upon his shoulder, as she stood close to his chair, “don’t let Adolphe come here immediately.”

“He must do so, dearest, now I think of it:  we have other things to think of besides ladies’ hearts, and other matters to plan besides wedding favours; the troops will be in Clisson on Monday next, to collect the conscripts.  I have promised to be with de Lescure, and Adolphe is to meet me there; they are both then to come here.  Not a man shall be taken who does not choose to go; and there are not many who wish to go from choice.  There will be warm work in Poitou next week, Agatha; few of us then can think of love or marriage.  You and Marie will be making sword-knots and embroidering flags; that will be your work.  A harder task will soon follow it—­that of dressing wounds and staunching blood.  We shall have hot work, and more than plenty of it.  May God send us well through it.”

“Amen; with all my heart I say, amen,” said Agatha; “but will these poor men resist the soldiers, Henri?”

“Indeed they will, Agatha.”

“But can they?  They have not arms, nor practice in the way of fighting—­they have no leaders.”

“We will take arms from our enemies.  We will be apt scholars in fighting for our wives, and our sisters, and our houses.  As for leaders, the man who is most fit shall lead the others.”