"You go to certain death."
"The death of a man has won a cause before this."
"But what part have you in the quarrels of Montvilliers," she asked—"you, a stranger? Why should you adventure yourself in such a cause?"
"Men are driven forward by all sorts of reasons," he answered carelessly. "The spirit of the wanderer brought me here; fate drew me into this quarrel, against my will, it is true, but I have a mind to see the end of it."
"You do not count the cost," she said eagerly.
"I do not think of it, mademoiselle."
"But you must. You shall not go!"
"You refuse my service?"
"Yes, because it is folly; there is no reason in it. Against your will you have played a part; they are your own words. Take one of the horses. Ride to the frontier. I will not have your death on my hands."
"It was against my will, mademoiselle, but it is so no longer. Would you have another reason for my service? A woman thought me a spy. I would prove her wrong."