"If you will excuse me, sir, I will go and say goodbye to Anne now."
At the sound of his carefully-controlled voice Mr. Elphinstone almost broke down. "Oh, René, René, if only you need not!"
Very erect, at the other end of the table, the young man wore a look which was doubtless on the faces of those of his kin who had mounted the guillotine, as they went to death. He had, indeed, for what he was about to do, almost as much need of courage as they.
"God knows," he answered, "that I would give everything in the world not to leave him." He looked up for a moment at the child-portrait on the wall. "I think Jeannette too knows that. He is all I have—except my honour."
"And you must sacrifice him to that?"
"Would you have it the other way round, sir?"
"No—no! I don't think so . . ." gulped the old man. "Go, then. . . ."
But as the door shut behind his son-in-law he sank back in his chair and put his hand over his eyes. First Janet, then Anne-Hilarion, then René—France had taken them all, and only the child had been given back. René, he felt sure, would never return.
The night-light was already burning, though there was yet daylight in the room, when the Marquis came in to take farewell of all he loved best on earth. He drew back the gay chintz curtains and stood looking down on the treasure above all treasures which Jeannette had committed to him, and which now he was going to forsake. For, like his father-in-law, he felt that he should not return.