“Yes, I,” responded the young girl, removing the large hat which had partially concealed her face; “I wish to share the dangers of those who are dear to me—share in their victory or their defeat. Your counsel comes too late, gentlemen. Do you see those lights on the horizon? They tell us that the people of these communes are repairing to the cross-roads at the Croix d’Arcy, the general rendezvous. Before two o’clock fifteen hundred men will be gathered there awaiting my father’s commands. Would you have him leave these men, whom he has called from their peaceful firesides, without a leader? Impossible!”
She evidently shared the madness of her lover and father, even if she did not share all their hopes.
“No, there must be no more hesitation, no more parleying,” she continued. “Prudence now would be the height of folly. There is no more danger in a retreat than in an advance. Do not try to detain my father, gentlemen; each moment of delay may, perhaps, cost a man’s life. And now, my friends, forward!”
A loud cheer answered her, and the little band descended the hill.
But M. d’Escorval could not allow his own son, whom he saw in the ranks, to depart thus.
“Maurice!” he cried.
The young man hesitated, but at last approached.
“You will not follow these madmen, Maurice?” said the baron.
“I must follow them, father.”
“I forbid it.”