"More strange is the fact that the Baron should have returned my love; the darling of Paris, he had been called, Marie; every woman adored him; yet he condescended to feel for me a different sentiment, a pure and deep affection such as no other woman had hitherto inspired in him; imagine it, Marie!"
"Dear Louise, it does not surprise me," said Marie, touched.
"Me, it surprises—delights—transforms. By this circumstance I have been made to see clearly how poor a thing it is that a woman should desire to masquerade as a man; so clearly that now—even though my love-dream is over—I must return to my own sex. I shall never see Henri again, Marie; he lies buried beneath the snows of Russia; I am widowed before I am a wife."
"Louise, what are you saying? Do you imply that D'Estreville is dead, that he died in the war? that——"
"Alas, there is little doubt. Why look you so, Marie? You have not heard otherwise—alas! that is impossible—can you wonder that I returned dejected from the war?"
"Poor Louise!" said Marie, and stopped to think very earnestly. Here was a very difficult question set for her decision. Louise knew nothing, after all, of Henri's visit; was not even aware that he was alive. Would it be better to leave her in ignorance, for her career's sake, or for her heart's sake tell her the good news? There was no doubt as to which alternative old Dupré would choose were he to be asked for his opinion. Marie was proud of her sister's career as a soldier and honestly sorry that it should end, thus, at its beginning. The Emperor would see to it that a new war should follow quickly upon the disastrous campaign just ended; Louise would have plenty of opportunity to rise.
But Louise seemed to have wearied of "masquerading"; she desired to be a woman once more; she had become transformed by love. Would this phase pass and ambition for a soldier's glory dawn again at the first bugle call?
"You will forget your sorrow, maybe," she ventured, "when the trumpet sounds for a new war, which will be soon enough; you will desire to return where glory awaits you."
"Not so, sister; I have done with glory; it is love that I want. I will tell you a secret; when I became substitute for Karl it was indeed in part for your sake, that you might be spared the pain of separation; but there was another motive besides, for I desired to go where Henri went—ah! I deceived you, Marie; forgive me; it is a devilish thing when sisters deceive one another!"
Marie felt very uncomfortable.