It almost broke Gaston too, since for him there was also the strain of keeping from her any suspicion of what he knew about Bonaparte’s real desire, but his man’s, his soldier’s will held firm against the lover’s. Extravagant perhaps, even fanatical, but none could say ignoble, his intention was fixed. If the attempt at rescue failed, if the First Consul meant to consummate his treachery, he must do it. There was no more to say.
In the end Valentine was, if not acquiescent, at least vanquished. No, she would not go to Mme Bonaparte; she gave him her word. No, she would not even lend the countenance of her name to any of the protests now being made in certain quarters. Yes, she would even acknowledge that, theoretically, he was right. . . . Beaten and shivering, she half lay in his arms, and composure, the composure of exhaustion, began to come back to them both after the combat, and for a little while they were able to talk of other things, far away and dear. . . .
A warning knock came at the door.
“Good God!” exclaimed Gaston, “is the time nearly up, then? And we have spent so much of it in . . . conflict!”
He looked at her with eyes full of love and a very white smile on his lips. And all Valentine’s soul was in the gaze with which she met his in her answer:
“Forgive me for my foolishness! It is over now. I would not have you otherwise than victor—for now I see you at your full stature. And I . . . who once presumed to criticise you—I am at your feet . . . in worship.”
Her voice died out of existence under his sudden passionate kisses. His own was shaking as he said between them, almost fiercely, “You must not say that, Valentine, you must not say that! O my dear, my dear, how can we part, how can I——”
The knock came once more. He stopped abruptly, set his teeth, loosed the tension of his hold, and after a second or two stood up, quite steady and composed again, drawing her gently with him.
“Who brought you here, my darling?”
“Roland,” she answered. “He is waiting out there all this while, poor boy. And, Gaston, he is heartbroken. He thinks they ought all to have been killed before they let you be taken. Not even the message you sent him at Vannes seems to comfort him.”