He paused: his face kindled with a passionate enthusiasm, his eyes were lit with fire. There was something great in the man’s rapt expression.
“Then, the only true, the only sweet battle-cry in the French tongue, will ring through the woods of Brittany, ay, even to the walls of Paris. Vive la France! Vive la Monarchie!”
“France has suffered so much,” she murmured; “do not you who love her so tremble when you think of her rivers running once more red with blood?”
“If there be war at all,” he answered, “it will be brief. Year by year the loyalists have gained power and influence. I have notes here from secret agents in every town, almost in every village; the great heart of Paris is with us. Henri will only have to show himself, and the voice of the people will shout him king! And you——”
“For me,” she interrupted, “nothing! I withdraw! I will not marry Henri, he must stand his chance alone! His is the elder branch—he is the direct heir to the throne!”
Mr. Sabin drew in a long breath between his teeth. He was nerving himself for a great effort. This fear had been the one small, black cloud in the sky of his happiness.
“Helène,” he said, “if I believed that you meant—that you could possibly mean—what you have this moment said, I would tear my compact in two, throw this box amongst the flames, and make my bow to my life’s work. But you do not mean it. You will change your mind.”
“But indeed I shall not!”
“Of necessity you must; the alliance between you and Henri is absolutely compulsory. You unite the two great branches of our royal family. The sound of your name, coupled with his, will recall to the ears of France all that was most glorious in her splendid history. And apart from that, Henri needs such a woman as you for his queen. He has many excellent qualities, but he is weak, a trifle too easy, a trifle thoughtless.”