"A dream, little one, that shall always last," he said. "Ah, Marie-Louise, it is our dawn, our day, the beginning of a new life, chérie, where there shall be only love—our love, yours and mine, the love of old friends, of those we love, the love of work—ah, you shall see what that will be!" His voice thrilled suddenly. "You shall see, for now Bidelot shall have that 'touch' he asked for—for now I know! I know! It was you I modelled, Marie-Louise—your face, your form—and they were perfect, beautiful; but I was blind to what was most beautiful of all! I modelled only features—and I forgot the soul, for I had forgotten love, and I could not see the dearer things. I forgot the soul that should soften so tenderly and refine the courage and the resolution and the purity of that dear face of yours and make nobility divine. I forgot—"
"Jean!"—her fingers were laid tightly upon his lips. "Jean, you must not say such things! Jean, Jean, I am so far from that—so far from that!"
He could just see her face now in the growing light—see the eyes shine through a mist of happy tears, see those perfect lips quiver in their smile, as she shook her head.
"But you shall see!" he told her eagerly. "A little while in Paris—ah, Marie-Louise, that is a secret that I have for you!—a little while there, and then you shall see! And all France shall see—and France shall tell you that it is so! Ah, Marie-Louise, perhaps some day they will forget Jean Laparde; but France shall always remember one who is worthier far, and in that one see its hope, its inspiration and its glory, for France shall never forget—Marie-Louise!"
She had slipped from his arms. Her face was full of wonder, and upon it fell the soft glow of light that now was tinging the eastern sky. How pure, how brave, how beautiful she was! How love shone in the eyes that were like Heaven's stars; how the soft light seemed to caress her face and rejoice in the radiant happiness that was there, a happiness that even her wondering bewilderment for the moment seemed to enhance! How the strong, young form swung free and lithesome to the lifting deck, and found a wondrous joy in its own glorious virility!
"Jean, what do you mean?" she said breathlessly.
"You shall know!" he laughed, and laughed because there was only joy and gladness in all the world—in the waves that tumbled and frolicked and played, and tossed their white manes at each other and the ship; in the breeze that sang merrily its way along on its busy errand into the great everywhere; in the vibrant throb of the mighty ship, in that spokesman's voice—for it was to be to-day—to-day! "You shall know, Marie-Louise—to-night, when Father Anton is there to hear, and has blessed us, and made Marie-Louise my little wife! And then that little while in Paris that you will understand—and then—home! Ah, Marie-Louise, can you not see it now—the blue water, blue with the wonderful colour that only God can make, and the white beach where we played when we were little children, and the boats, Marie-Louise, and the brave, true, loyal friends! Home, Marie-Louise, home, home, home—to Bernay-sur-Mer! Ah, is not God good? We shall go home, ma bien-aimée—and there we shall live, and there I shall work for you, and France, and love, and there old Bidelot and those who really love the things we do shall come at times to make us proud and happy! Ah, it will be a grand monde, Marie-Louise, a grand monde of wealth and riches, and a very proud grand monde, careful of those who shall have the entree there—for it shall be a grand monde where you, my little Marie-Louise, are queen, a grand monde of love and happiness."
Purple and golden and pink and crimson was the east—and over the horizon rim rose the sun. And it mounted higher, and the dawn was gone, and the day had come.
"Look!" he said suddenly.
And a cry rose to Marie-Louise's lips; and her eyes grew dim and misty again until she could no longer see.