“Ah no, that is not all! To be free, that is good; but only that I may be a man again; that I may love my art—and you; that I may once again be proud of France.”
“Monsieur, I repeat, you must not speak so. Do not take advantage of my willingness to serve you.”
“A thousand pardons! but that was in my heart, and I hoped, I hoped—”
“You must not hope. I can only know you as M. Laflamme, the—”
“The political convict; ah, yes, I know,” he said bitterly: “a convict over whom the knout is held; who may at any moment be shot down like a hare: who has but two prayers in all the world: to be free in France once more, and to be loved by one—”
She interrupted him: “Your first prayer is natural.”
“Natural?—Do you know what song we sang in the cages of the ship that carried us into this evil exile here? Do you know what brought tears to the eyes of the guards?—What made the captain and the sailors turn their heads away from us, lest we should see that their faces were wet? What rendered the soldiers who had fought us in the Commune more human for the moment? It was this:
“‘Adieu, patrie!
L’onde est en furie,
Adieu patrie,
Azur!
Adieu, maison, treille au fruit mer,
Adieu les fruits d’or du vieux mur!
Adieu, patrie,
Ciel, foret, prairie;
Adieu patrie,
Azur.’”
“Hush, monsieur!” the girl said with a swift gesture. He looked and saw that Angers was waking. “If I live,” he hurriedly whispered, “I shall be at the King’s Cave to-morrow night. And you—the horses?”
“You shall have my help and the horses.” Then, more loudly: “Au revoir, monsieur.”