"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.
"It will mean more to France than many regiments!" and she struck the pocket which contained the letters. "Ah, we must get through—we must not fail!"
She rose suddenly and stretched her arms high above her head.
"Dear God, you will not let us fail!" she cried. Then she turned and held out a hand to him. "Come," she said, quietly; "if we are to get across, it must be before the moon rises."