"Yes, for they fight for Liberty and you stand between them and that goddess."
A long silence succeeded the words, and the woman was first to break it.
"You have spoken the truth which I begged you to keep back," she said.
"Because it is before you, veiled, seen distorted, but there. You may sleep to forget it, but it sits on your bedside and it will be the phantom in your dreams as it is the reality of your waking moments."
"I know one sleep it will not trouble," said she, proudly.
"I do not fear that kind more than your Majesty—I may desire it as much," said the count.
"Oh, you think it our only refuge?"
"Yes: but we must not hurry towards it. We shall earn it by our exertions during the day of storm."
They were sitting beside each other, but a gulf divided them; their thoughts so diverged.
"A last word, count," said Marie Antoinette, "swear to me that you came back solely on my account? that Lady Charny did not write to you? I know that she was going out—to meet you? swear that you have not come back for her sake!"