"Then I would fight for the king."
Madeleine sank back.
"Would your fighting-days never be done?" she sighed reproachfully. "Friend, the world gives better things than the sword. Think you," she went on hurriedly, "we are put upon this world to hate one another and be always at strife? Ah no. We are here to live! The soldier's day must pass, his arm grow stiff, and 'tis then he sighs for life—the sword gives only death. How wretched is that soldier's lonely end! It is love in life that ennobles the body, and 'tis death in love that clothes the soul in its flight to God."
Her eyes had been fixed upon him. She cast them down suddenly and sat trembling.
"My father taught me the use of the sword, and explained to me the action of the gun," Geoffrey faltered. "He taught me nothing else."
"Your mother?" Madeleine whispered.
"She died when I was a child."
"She would have taught you. She would have told you to take the best," murmured the girl.
He could see only a rich coil of hair glowing in the firelight.
"But I am untaught," she went on. "My father was ever a stranger, my mother has never been a friend. I grew up with Jean-Marie, my brother, who was a follower of your creed. He too believed that life has nothing better than the sword, so went away to fight, and I have had no word of him again. Alone I have taught myself to live, to see that life is glorious, to find joy in drawing each healthy breath. I have studied the birds and animals, and spoken to them, until they have answered me so that I could understand. It is so magnificent, this life!"