“If nobody fights any harder than I——”
She stopped him with a hand upon his arm.
“Ah, but you are fighting well! One can fight in other ways than with a rifle—one can fight with one’s brains.”
“It is your brains, not mine, which have done the fighting in this campaign,” Stewart pointed out.
“Where should I have been but for you? Dead, most probably, my message lost, my life-work shattered!”
He placed his hand quietly over hers and held it fast.
“Let us be clear, then,” he said. “It is not for freedom, or for any abstract ideal I am fighting. It is for you—for your friendship, for your——”
“No, it is for France,” she broke in. “I am not worth fighting for—I am but one girl among many millions. And if we win—if we get through——”
She paused, gazing out through the gathering darkness with starry eyes.
“Yes—if we get through,” he prompted.