He turned towards the door, and took one step in its direction, but no more. For it was open, and Mme de Trélan herself stood on the threshold. None of them, absorbed, had known it.
M. de Brencourt put his hand over his mouth. God grant she had not heard! She gave no sign of it. Her eyes were on the young Republican.
“You come from . . . Mirabel, I think, sir?”
“Yes, Madame. I have brought you . . . these.” He indicated the letter and the decoration on the table, but made no motion to give them to her, and she did not take them. Yet she looked at them as though she saw nothing else. And the Abbé was kissing her hand before she seemed to realise that he was there, nor did she show any surprise at his presence.
But in a moment or two she lifted her eyes to the young officer again, and from her look it seemed as if, with the strange, exalted sight that comes sometimes with the stroke of a grief that no words can fathom, she saw something now of the tragedy of his soul on his face.
“I thank you, sir, for these,” she said gently. “My husband has a higher honour now, I think.”
The young hussar bent his head till his looped-up tresses of plaited hair fell on his breast. “Yes, Madame.” He bowed profoundly, and went once more towards the door; then, inspired perhaps by that vision of measureless sorrow and courage before him, turned and said, “Madame, I have been present at the death of a hero. I wish mine might be like it!” And—only a young captain of hussars, but the material of which the conqueror’s marshals were made—he saluted and went out, to lay aside, with his broken belief, all his dreams of glory.
When he was gone, M. Chassin took the letter and the cross in its handkerchief, and put them into Valentine’s hands. M. de Brencourt looked out of the window. He did not hear what they said to each other, but he supposed that the priest was giving her the message about Mirabel . . .
It was thawing outside. People were going to and fro as usual. . . . Who would have thought the world would seem so empty?
Valentine’s voice startled him. “Monsieur de Brencourt, would you have the goodness to procure me a carriage? I am going at once to Mirabel.”