As she said this she gently laid her hand upon his arm, and the touch of her fingers thrilled through his whole frame. He put out his arms as though to grasp her in his embrace.
“No, Hubert—no; that must not be till Venice is our own.”
“I wish it were,” he said; “but it will never be so. You may make me a traitor in heart, but that will not drive out fifty thousand troops from the fortresses.”
“I do not understand these things, Hubert, and I have felt your country’s power to be so strong, that I cannot now doubt it.”
“It is absurd to doubt it.”
“But yet they say that we shall succeed.”
“It is impossible. Even though Prussia should be able to stand against us, we should not leave Venetia. We shall never leave the fortresses.”
“Then, my love, we may say farewell for ever. I will not forget you. I will never be false to you. But we must part.”
He stood there arguing with her, and she argued with him, but they always came round to the same point. There was to be the war, and she would not become the wife of her brother’s enemy. She had sworn, she said, and she would keep her word. When his arguments became stronger than hers, she threw herself back upon her plighted word.
“I have said it, and I must not depart from it. I have told him that my love for you should be eternal, and I tell you the same. I told him that I would see you no more, and I can only tell you so also.”