The patrol passed within twenty paces without seeing them.
"Well, this certainly is a poorly guarded point!" said Gabriel, in whom his dominant thought was always on the alert.
But his mind at once reverted to Diane, who was hardly at her ease yet.
"You may feel safe now, my sister," said he; "the danger is over. But now listen to me, for time passes, and my two burdens are still heavy on my heart. In the first place, you have not told me that you forgive my madness, and so I am still carrying this weary load of the past."
"Does one forgive the madness of fever and the ravings of despair?" said Diane. "No, my brother, we must pity and comfort them rather. I bore you no ill-will; no, I wept for you. And now that I see that you are restored to life and reason, I am resigned to the will of God."
"Ah, my sister, it is not resignation alone that you should feel!" cried Gabriel; "you must be hopeful too. That is why I was anxious to see you. You have lifted my burden of remorse for the past, and I thank you; but you must also remove the weight of anguish which weighs upon my heart for your future. You are, as you well know, one of the principal objects for which I live. It is necessary that my mind should be tranquillized as to that object, so that I may only have to concern myself, as I go my way, with the perils of the road; it must be that I may count upon finding you waiting for me at the end of my journey with a welcoming smile, sad if I fail, and joyous if I succeed, but in any event with the welcoming smile of a friend. With that object in view, there should be no misunderstanding between us. Meanwhile, my sister, it will be necessary that you should trust my word, and have a little confidence in me; for the secret which lies at the root of all my actions does not belong to me. I have sworn not to reveal it; and if I wish that the promises made to me should be kept, I must in my turn keep the promises that I have made to others."
"Explain yourself," said Diane.
"Ah," rejoined Gabriel, "you see how I hesitate and beat around the bush, because I am thinking of the garb that you wear, and of the name of sister, by which I am calling you, and, more than all else, of the profound respect for you that dominates my heart; and I do not wish to say one word to awake distressing memories or elusive hopes. And yet I must say to you that your beloved image has never been effaced, has never even faded in my soul, and that no person and no event can ever weaken it."
"My brother!" Diane interrupted, confused and delighted at the same time.
"Oh, hear me to the end, my sister!" said Gabriel. "I say again, nothing has changed, and nothing will ever change, this ardent—devotion which I have consecrated to you; and more than that, I am only too happy to think and to say that whatever happens to me, it will always be not only my blessed privilege, but my bounden duty, to love you. But what is the nature of this sentiment? God only knows, alas! but we shall soon know too, I hope. Meanwhile, this is what I have to ask of you, my sister: trusting in the Lord and your father, do you leave everything to Providence and my friendship, hoping nothing, but not despairing either. Understand me, pray! You told me long ago that you loved me; and pardon my presumption, but I seem to feel in my heart that you can love me still if our fate so wills. Now, my wish is to lessen the too distressing effect of my mad words when I parted from you at the Louvre. We must not deceive ourselves with vain imaginings, nor, on the other hand, believe that everything is over for us in this world. We must wait. In a short time I shall come to you and say one of two things. Either this: 'Diane, I love you; remember our childhood and your promises. You must be mine, Diane; and we must resort to every possible means to obtain the king's consent.' Or else I shall say to you: 'My sister, an irresistible fatality stands in the way of our love, and opposes our happiness; we are in no way to blame for it, and it is something more than human—yes, almost divine—which stands between us, my sister. I give you back your promise; you are free. Give your life to another; you cannot be blamed for it, nor even, alas! are you to be pitied. No; our tears, even, would be out of place. Let us bow our heads without a word, and accept with resignation our inevitable destiny. You will always be dear and holy in my eyes; but our two lives, which may still, thank God! be lived side by side, can never be united.'"