"You have caught me here in your room. You have only to call out to summon assistance. I shall be removed from your pathway forever."
"But the Eagle?"
"I shall find means before I die to tell someone where to look for it if it should be needed."
"And I am to condemn you to death?"
"Why not?" said the young man. "I only lived to bring it back. I never dreamed that I was to have the happiness of seeing you again."
"Happiness? This anguish?" murmured the young woman in daring self-revelation.
She had forgot the hour, her dress, the strangeness of the situation, the awful impropriety of it all, the possibility of discovery. She only saw the man she loved. She saw how he loved her. She hung upon his words, and would fain hear more—more!
"My God!" he responded with a sort of fierce pride that was almost arrogant. "Although I was born a peasant, mademoiselle, not the finest gentleman in France or England could love you as I do. Yet it is impossible for you to love me now that the Emperor is no longer here. Your uncle would never consent. You, yourself, love that English gentleman. Why give thought to Marteau? Summon assistance, deliver me up and remember me as one who loved you with all the fervor of his heart, or forget me, if you can."
"I would not have you die," said the woman, shuddering. "God forbid."
"It is best so. Life holds nothing for me now."