“Ah, grand’mère, you are not hopeful enough,� Rosaline said; “see what these two men—Cavalier and Roland—have already accomplished. Let us hope that England will help us.�
Madame shook her head. “The world is selfish,� she said quietly; then she glanced at the clock. “Rosaline, call Babet,� she said; “’tis the hour for our devotions.�
The housekeeper was summoned, while François looked carefully at the windows and saw that all the shutters were fastened. Then the little company joined in evening prayer, Madame de St. Cyr reading a chapter from the Bible. They did not sing; not even in that secluded spot did they dare to give voice to one of Marot’s psalms, for they did not know what ear might be listening in the night. When it was over the grandmother bade Rosaline good-night and sent her away with Babet, but she detained d’Aguesseau. When they were alone she turned to him with a sad face.
“I fear that trouble is brewing, monsieur,� she said quietly; “the very presence of Cavalier near Nîmes increases our perils, and there too are the Florentines,—the White Camisards, as they call themselves,—ruffians, in fact, banded together to hunt us down. I see nothing but danger and death on every side. For myself, I no longer fear,� she added with sorrowful dignity; “I know that I have but a little while to live, and I would die right cheerfully for my religion, but Rosaline—mon Dieu!� she clasped her hands and looked up.
“Madame, if I can protect her—� began François.
“That is what I would pray for, monsieur,� she said. “If I am taken, will you aid Babet to get her out of France?�
“I would give my life for hers!� he answered gravely.
The old woman looked up at his resolute face, at the light in his eyes, and bowed her own face in her hands.
“Madame de St. Cyr,� he said quietly, “I do solemnly pledge myself to defend her—to take her away to a place of safety—to fight for her as long as I live myself.�
She looked up through her tears.