“Poor Marie, from my heart I pity her; in any other times than these, how I would have gloried to have given Henri my sister; but now, these are no times to marry, or to give in marriage. Henri has stern, hard work to do, and he is bent on doing it; ay, and he will do it. No one will carry the standard of his King further into the ranks of the republicans than Henri Larochejaquelin.”
“I know one, Charles, who will, at any rate, be beside him.”
“But he is so full of glorious confidence—so certain of success. He will go to battle with the assured hope of victory. I shall fight expecting nothing but defeat.”
“You are melancholy, tonight, my love: something ails you beyond your dread of the coming struggle.”
“Can I be other than melancholy? I have no hope.”
“No hope, Charles. Oh! do not say you have no hope.”
“None in this world, Victorine. The Indian widow, when she throws herself on the burning pile, with a noble courage does what she has been taught to look upon as a sacred duty, but she cannot but dread the fire which is to consume her.”
“You would not liken yourself to her?”
“Through the mercy of our blessed Saviour I am not so mistaken in my creed; but I am hardly less calamitous in my fate: but it is not the prospect of my own sufferings which disturb me; I at any rate may be assured of an honourable, even an enviable death. It is my anxiety for you—for our little one—and for dear Marie, which makes my spirit sad.”
“God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb,” said Madame de Lescure. “Our trials will not be harder than we can bear.”