The pride of the young fellow, and the consternation occasioned by the recreancy of his superior, his belief in the doctrines he had confessed with Mazurier, and the time-serving of the latter, had evidently thrown asunder the guards of his peace, and produced a sad state of confusion.
"It were better to run away," said Jacqueline, not pausing to choose the word,—"far better than to stay and defy the Devil, and then find that you could not resist him, Victor. Oh, if we could go, as Elsie said, back to Domrémy,—anywhere away from this cruel Meaux!"
"Have you, then, gained nothing, Jacqueline?"
"Everything. But to lose it,—oh, I cannot afford that!"
"Let us stand together, then. Promise me, Jacqueline," he exclaimed, eagerly, as though he felt himself among defences here, with her.
"What shall I promise, Victor?" she asked, with the voice and the look of one who is ready for any deed of daring, for any work of love.
"I, too, have preached this word."
Her only comment was, "I know you preached it well."
"What has befallen others may befall me."
"Well."