"Be frank, my friend, you find me too beautiful, do you not?"
"What is that you say, Bertha!"
"Admit it, pallor would better suit my cheeks than the tint of the rose. Recent tears should dim the brilliancy of my eyes. An expression of despair should compress my lips. Instead—my eyes shine brilliantly, my cheeks are red, and a smile sits upon my lips. Nothing in me betrays the pangs of despair; I look brimful of confidence, of calm and serene hope. What can I say to you, Nominoë?—my face can dissemble as little as my heart. Only a minute ago, before your arrival, I was happy; I see you again, my happiness is doubled. My words, my appearance, astonish you, because you left me broken with grief. Here," added Mademoiselle Plouernel taking from the table the letter which her old equerry had just returned to her; "read this; you will then understand what seems unexplainable to you. I sent to you a man whom I trust; he was to deliver this letter to you; he followed your traces to Guemenee, to Rennes, to Nantes; nowhere could he find you."
The young man took the letter; Bertha stepped out of the hall for a moment and quickly returned carrying a rather heavy casket. She laid the latter upon the table where also stood some writing materials, and traced a few lines with a firm hand. She then folded the two sheets; on the one she wrote—To my dear and good Marion; on the other—To my faithful Du Buisson. While Bertha was thus engaged, Nominoë informed himself of the contents of the letter that she had handed to him. A tremor ran through his frame and his moist eyes turned to Bertha. "What a heart! What courage! As brave as she is beautiful!" he muttered to himself, and resumed his reading. When he finished he carried the letter to his lips. Tears covered his face. He stepped forward, transfigured. His countenance became, like Bertha's, radiantly serene. He raised his head; his tears ceased to flow; a smile flitted over his lips; he collected his thoughts, and said to Mademoiselle Plouernel, who stepped towards him:
"Bertha, the future dazzles me like your beauty; but two words about the past: The insurrection is suppressed; Serdan is dead; my father! my father has gone and now is reborn, and lives yonder—but, alas! I could not bid him my supreme adieu, and close his eyes."
"When did that misfortune happen?"
"At Nantes, where we stopped, together with Serdan, we hoped to be able to rekindle the energy of the population of the town, and counteract the defection of the peasants. But the promises of Monsieur Chaulnes had made their dupes in Nantes also. Hence arose a fatal division between those of the inhabitants who laid down their arms, and those who wished to remain under arms. In the midst of the discord Nantes was occupied by a strong armed force. To attempt resistance would have been folly. The executions started. My father, Serdan and myself were signalled out as the chiefs of the sedition. From the moment the King's troops occupied Nantes the town gates were watched. We could not leave the place. Some devoted friends offered us a place of refuge, but we had to hide separately. I left my father and Serdan. They were discovered in their hiding places. Serdan, who was fallen upon as he lay asleep, was arrested. The next day he was hanged. My father at least escaped such an inauspicious death. Entrenched in his room and well armed, he defended himself until he fell. The next day the Governor's decree was proclaimed to the sound of the trumpet pronouncing sentence of death upon all who thenceforward gave aid or comfort to the heads of the sedition. From my place of concealment I could hear the proclamation distinctly. I wished to surrender myself, in order to free my host from the responsibility that rested upon him. Besides, I was tired of life. The miscarriage of our insurrectionary plans, the death of my father, of Serdan, of Tina my bride—the certainty of your love, Bertha, the prospect of being reborn in the invisible world, everything drove me toward what is called death. I only regretted not having seen you once more on this earth. Frightened at my determination to surrender myself, my host opposed it warmly. Finding me set upon my purpose, he offered me a means of escape that he considered safe, although singular. The cemetery of the Protestants of Nantes lies outside of the walls, as a sign of contempt. It is now forbidden to the Reformed pastors to accompany a corpse to its last resting place. My host proposed to place me in a coffin. Two men were to transport me out of town, as if they were carrying a Protestant corpse to the grave. The plan was carried out. In that manner I was enabled to leave Nantes. Obsessed with the wish of seeing you I came to Mezlean, traveling only by night, and occasionally stopping at some solitary peasant's hut, or hiding in the forest. In that way I succeeded in coming to you. And now, Bertha, let us forget the past, let us think only of the present. A dazzling future discloses itself to my eyes."
Nominoë was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Marion, who, a prey to violent anxiety, cried out from the threshold:
"An officer of the King! and soldiers!"
"What does the officer want?" asked Bertha without stirring.