One day when he spoke of these things, as they sat alone watching the men who swarmed like ants about the building of his bridge, he touched a closer note.
'Yet of all the enterprises to which I have set these rude, soldier hands, none has so warmed me as this, for none has been worthier a man's endeavour. It will be a glorious day for me when we set you in your palace at Casale. A glorious day, and yet a bitter.'
'A bitter?' Her great dark eyes turned on him in question.
His countenance clouded, his own glance fell away. 'Will it not be bitter for me to know this service is at an end; to know that I must go my ways; resume a mercenary's life, and do for hire that which I now do out of ... enthusiasm and love?'
She shifted her own glance, embarrassed a little.
'Surely you do yourself less than justice. There is great honour and fame in store for you, my lord.'
'Honour and fame!' He laughed. 'I would gladly leave those to tricksters like Bellarion, who rise to them so easily because no scruples ever deter them. Honour and fame! Let who will have those, so that I may serve where my heart bids me.'
Boldly now his hand sought hers. She let it lie in his. Above those pensive, mysterious eyes her line brows were knit.
'Aye,' she breathed, 'that is the great service of life! That is the only worthy service—as the heart bids.'
His second hand came to recruit the first. Lying almost at her feet, he swung round on his side upon the green earth, looking up at her in a sort of ecstasy. 'You think that, too! You help me to self-contempt, madonna.'