“And my presence draws danger—you would add, mademoiselle,� he said quietly; “that is true, but I shall not remain in this house, I shall go to the Cévennes, and there I can still watch over you a little. I shall indeed go to England, but not now.�
He spoke with such resolution that she attempted no reply. There was a pause and again Truffe barked viciously at the other end of the hedge, and a glint of red showed through a break in the thicket, but neither of the two friends noticed it. At last the girl broke the silence.
“I suppose the end will come some time,� she said dreamily. “The old château will be consumed by the flames that M. de Baudri’s troops will kindle, the garden will be a desolate place, and Languedoc will know us no more. I have lain awake at night thinking of it, monsieur, and yet I am not afraid. I do not know why, but I have never been really afraid of the day when this concealment must end. But oh, I do pray that my grandmother may escape! I think of these things, and then I come out and see God’s sun shining, and hear my doves coo, and it seems impossible that the world is so cruel. Is it indeed so, monsieur? Is my life here at St. Cyr a dream of peace amid the fierce world? Can it be that this too, that I have always known, will end?�
His face was sad and stern, and he looked at her with sorrowful eyes.
“Mademoiselle,� he replied, “I pray that it may never end. But once I too had such a dream. I was a little lad at my mother’s knee in Dauphiné. The sun shone there too, and the birds sang, and every-day life went on. I had a father whom I reverenced, who taught me and guided me, a sister whom I loved, and we were rich.� He paused and then added, “I am almost a beggar now—but for madame’s loan which my father’s prudent investments in England will enable me to repay. I have neither father nor mother nor sister. The château is a blackened ruin, the lands are tilled by strangers. Mon Dieu! my dream ended as I pray yours may not!�
Rosaline’s face was full of sympathy, tears gathered in her eyes, she held out her hand with a gesture of commiseration.
“Monsieur, pardon me for speaking of it,� she said, a quiver in her voice; “your sister—oh, believe me, I grieve with you for so terrible an affliction. God knows what my fate may be!�
He took her hand in both his and kissed it.
“Mademoiselle,� he said gravely, “while I live I will surely defend you from that awful calamity. There is no one to require my service—’tis yours, mademoiselle, and my gratitude and devotion. Would that I had more to devote to your protection!�