“You mean, that she loved him. You must take his word for that; she is not likely to make a confidant of you. Besides, he tells you it's a last meeting; you can scarcely say nay. Poor girl, he is the only one remaining to her of all her house! On his departure you are not more a stranger here than is she in the land of her fathers.”
“I'll do it I I'll do it!” cried I, passionately. “Let him meet me where he mentioned; I 'll be there.”
“That's as it should be,” said the abbé, grasping my hand, and pressing it fervently. “But come, don't forget you must pass me through this same cordon of yours.”
With a timid and shrinking heart I walked beside the abbé, across the open terrace, towards the large gate, which with its bronzed and gilded tracery was already shining in the rich sunlight.
“A fine-looking fellow, that dragoon yonder; he 's deco' rated, I see.”
“Yes; an old hussar of the Garde.”
“What 's he called?”
“Pierre Dulong; a name well known in his troop.”
“Halte-la!” cried the soldier, as we approached.
“Your officer,” said I.