“Oh, no!—there can be no question of that. That is a matter which concerns not my honor alone, but that of my father also.”
“Yes,” she assented; “M. de Benseval was right—the engagement is with the dead, and so is doubly sacred. So far we are agreed. What is it, then, that you propose?”
“I propose to turn aside from my journey to Poitiers, and follow M. le Comte back to the Bocage. Can I do this with honor, mademoiselle?”
“What will you do in the Bocage?”
“I will seek death,” I answered; and I know that I spoke sincerely. “And it may be that my death will be of some service to France.”
She sat a moment looking up at me, a strange light in her eyes.
“I do not like to advise,” she began at last, and I fancied that her lips were trembling. “It is so serious a matter.”
“I beg you to,” I urged. “It is the greatest favor you can do me.”
“A man is the best judge of his own duty.”
“He should be,” I admitted; “but in this case I fear that I cannot see clearly.”