“Nay, monsieur,� she said, “I wanted you to go because a woman wants the man she—she loves to be a hero—�
He caught her hands, looking eagerly into her face.
“Is it possible?� he cried.
She smiled through her tears.
“I wanted you to be a hero,� she answered, “and when you went I thought—my heart would break!�
Her fair head was on his shoulder now, and he kissed her, the perils of their lives forgotten, all the world changed in an instant and only Love triumphant. After a while he broke the silence.
“Are you happy?� he asked her softly, holding her a little away from him that he might see her face.
She smiled radiantly, but did not answer, and he went on, questioning her that he might have a fresh assurance of her affection.
“You want me to go and you do not,� he said; “what am I to think?�
“Yes, I wanted you to go,� she replied, a flush on her face. “I could not bear to have you seem less brave or daring than other men—or to lack zeal for your religion—and then you went! And—and I cannot bear to have you go to face danger—even death itself!�