"She could never have been so lovely before. Her hair is like spun glass," Dierdre tried to atone. "People would turn to look at her in the street. Monsieur le Capitaine, you should be proud of such a beautiful wife."
"I am," the man answered, "proud of her beauty, more proud of her heart."
"But it is I who am proud!" the woman caught him up. "He has lost his dear eyes that all women admired, yet he has won honours such as few men have. What does it matter about my poor hair? You can see by the ribbons on his breast, Mademoiselle, what he is—what he has done for his country. You also, Monsieur, you see——"
"I don't see, Madame, because I, too, am blind," said Brian. "But I feel—I feel that your husband has won something which means more than his eyes, more than all his honours and decorations: a great love."
"You are blind!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman. "I should never have guessed. Ah, Madame, it is I who must now ask your pardon! I called you 'Mademoiselle.' Already I had forgiven you what you said in error. But I did not understand, or the forgiveness would have been easier. Your first thought was for your husband—your blind husband—just as my thought always is and will be for mine! You wanted him to have a place by the fire. Your temper was in arms, not for yourself, but for him—his comfort. How well I understand now! Madame, you and I have the same cross laid upon us. But it's a cross of honour. It is le croix de guerre!"
"I wish I had a right to it!" Dierdre broke out. "I haven't, because he is not my husband. He doesn't care for me—except maybe, as a friend. But to atone to him for injustice, to punish myself for hurting you, I'll confess something. I'd marry him to-morrow, blind as he is—perhaps because he is blind!—and be happy and proud all my life—if he would have me. Only,—I know he won't."
"My child! I care too much for you," Brian answered, after an instant of astonished silence, "far too much to take you at your word. Some men might—but not I! Monsieur le Capitaine here, and Madame, were husband and wife before their trouble came. That is different——"
"No!" cried the woman whose name was Suzanne. "It is not different. My husband's the one man on earth for me. If we were not married—if he had lost his legs and arms as well as his eyes, I'd still want to be his wife—want it more than a kingdom."
"You hear, Monsieur," her husband said, laughing a little, and holding her close, with that perfect independence of onlookers which the French have when they're thoroughly in love.
"I hear, Madame," said Brian. "But you, Monsieur le Capitaine—you would not have accepted the sacrifice——"