"I am on my way," he replied.
"Then you will not. You will hold it back; bring it to Paris, and give it to Monsieur Roché."
"It is impossible!" he exclaimed, glancing at me in surprise.
"It is not. If you deliver this you will ruin France! For the love of France, pause!"
"I will not be a traitor to a friend who trusts me, even for the love of France," he answered. "I have been asked to deliver this letter; how, then, can I carry it to Monsieur Roché? No, not for the love of France!"
"Then, Gaspard, for me!" I said, turning my eyes upon him. "Do this for me. Prove your protestations have not been idle. Do this for me."
His face flushed crimson, and then grew pale and gray, until, in but a few seconds, he seemed to have become death-like before my eyes.
"Why do you ask this'?" he asked, icily.
"For the sake of France," I repeated. And then, like the lifting of a veil, I saw things clearly, realized that I was tempting him, whom I loved to call my dearest friend, to disgrace; realized that it was not for love of France, but for love of victory, and Monsieur Roché's praises. Gaspard seemed to hesitate, and I trembled lest he should consent.
"Not even for your sake can I do this," he answered, slowly; and my heart quickened at the proof that he was as true as I believed him; yet, because I am a woman, I must perforce feign some slight resentment that he would not yield me what I wished he should not.