"To what other end do I love the Lady of the Red Star—alas! I can't see it—save to bring her glory?"
"That's French," said Sophy, with a laugh. "Wouldn't you rather stay with me and be happy?"
"Who speaks to me?" he cried, springing to his feet. "Not you!"
"No, no," she answered, "I have no fear. What is it, Casimir, that drives us on?"
"Drives us on! You! You, too?"
"It's not a woman's part, is it?"
He caught her round the waist, and she allowed his clasp. But she grew grave, yet smiled again softly.
"If all life were an evening at Fontainebleau—a fine evening at Fontainebleau!" she murmured, in the low clearness which marked her voice.
"Mightn't it be?"
"With war? And with what drives us on?"