"I tell you that it is impossible. This morning our guards were strengthened, we have now three lines of outposts. Our men have orders to shoot every one who does not know the password. In any event, you will be too late; the conflict at W---- has already been decided."
"No matter!" cried Leo, recovering from his prostration, and breaking out into the wildest despair. "There will be a light somewhere yet,--one fight, at least, and that is all I need. Ah, you do not know what my mother's terrible words have done for me! She is fully conscious that if I am responsible for the overthrow of my soldiers, I must bear the curse and torment of my crime, and she ought to pity me; but instead of that--O my God! she is still my mother, and I have been her all!"
Waldemar trembled before this outburst of agony. "Let me call Wanda," he said; "she will--"
"She will follow my mother's example. You do not know our Polish women, and therefore"--a sort of grim triumph broke through the young soldier's despair--"therefore hope nothing from them! Wanda will never be your wife, not even after my death,--not if she dies of her love for you. You are the enemy of her people, you take sides with the oppressors of her country. This pronounces your sentence. No Polish maiden will ever become your bride. And it is well that it is so," he added, breathing more freely; "I could not die in peace, knowing that she was in your arms. Now I can die content,--she is lost to you, as well as to me."
He was hurrying away, but he paused suddenly as if rooted to the floor. For some moments he seemed to hesitate, then he went slowly and timidly to the door leading into his mother's study.
"Mother!"
All within was quiet; there was not a sign of life.
"I wish to bid you good-bye."
No answer.
"Mother!" The young man's voice faltered in agonized, heart-rending supplication. "Do not let me leave you in this way. If I cannot see you, give me one parting word--one only. It will be the last. Do you not hear me, mother?"