"I dread the loneliness," said Claude. "Ah, Marguerite, I am weak to-night, unmanly to-night! I felt at every step I took to the beach that the spirits of those two murdered women were walking beside me, and yet I welcomed them not. I trembled."
"You are indeed weak, my love. But be strong. We have yet a hard fight to fight. We must not give in till we see France."
"See France! I shall never see it! It is hard, when life promised so fair, to have to lay it down away from the camp and the court. I had hoped yet to win myself a name; not for my own sake, but that you, my queen, might be the proudest woman in France."
"I am the proudest woman in the world," she said. "This year of trial has proved my love a king. I have watched you toil and suffer for us in uncomplaining silence, and the hopeful words which were ever on your lips told how nobly you were fighting. O Claude, I need you! I need you now more than ever! We each must help the other!" She clung trembling to her lover's arm.
Claude braced himself.
"I must not let my gloomy spirit make my love's as heavy as its own. It has passed, sweetheart I feel strong again; and to-morrow I shall be ready to fight the battle anew."
As they walked back in the darkness Claude stumbled, and would have fallen, but that Marguerite's arm held him up.
"How strong you are become, my darling!" he said tenderly. "Had I a sword on shore I would teach you to wield it; and truly, I think, when we get home again another Joan of Arc would be ready to lead the hosts of France."
"'Tis good to see the old spirit return. We shall indeed get home; and it will be sufficient for me to know that my hero is the first in the field, with my glove borne honourably into the thick of the fight."