"Sick of life! Your world in England must be a horrid place, if people weary of it so soon."
"You mistake me. Every heart, as I said to your aunt the other night, has some secret sorrow, and I have mine—a lost position. Bravely did I bear the cross till I was taken prisoner——"
"Do you deem yourself such?"
"I mean till I was left here, abandoned in hostile France, thus crushing all the brilliant schemes I had formed for the future."
"Enter the service of France. I have vast interest through my father, through my cousin Bourgneuf, and the Comte de Boisguiller. Who can say how high you may rise? We have still our Irish Brigade and the regiment of Royal Scots, and to be a Scotsman is still a passport to royal favour in France."
"Was, Jacqueline; you should say it was. But that day has gone for ever, nor would such views suit me if it remained. I thank you, my beloved, but this can never be."
A sound as of steps among the shrubbery close by made us pause, and then Jacqueline, after looking hastily round, asked—
"Is the chateau becoming so terrible to you?"
"Ah! do not ask me that, at least in such a tone of pique. With you I should indeed be happy anywhere."
"Should be—are you not?"