She did not wait for him to finish, but went on:—
"I place it in your power to serve the rightful cause, honorably and loyally,—the cause of the king; my cause, Robert Tournay, and you refuse to do so."
"Do you not see that what you propose would be my dishonor?" he asked gently.
"No," answered Edmé firmly. "You are a brave but obstinate man, who madly pursues a wicked course; because, having once espoused it, you think to desert it would be disloyal. You are mad, Robert Tournay, but I will rescue you from your folly. I will save you in spite of yourself. I command you to stay here!" and with the same imperious gesture which he knew so well of old, she stood before him, her dark blue eyes, as was their wont under stress of excitement, flashing almost black. The tone was one of command, but there was in it a note of entreaty that went to his heart. He caught the hand which she held out to him, and exclaimed fervently:—
"I would give ten years of life to be able to obey you, but it cannot be. You do not know what you are asking of me or you would not put my honor thus upon the rack. It is cruel of you, mademoiselle, but I forgive you. You cannot understand. How should you—you are of the Monarchy, and I am of the Republic. The Republic calls me and I must go."
"The Republic!" repeated Edmé, "Oh! execrable Republic! It has robbed me of everything in the world—family, estate, friends, and now"—She paused, the sentence incomplete upon her lips, and looked at him with an expression of pain upon her face as if some violent struggle were taking place within her. "And now you are going back to it. You may become its victim; you, who are so brave and strong and noble. Yes," she continued, "I will give the word its full meaning, Robert Tournay, you are noble—too noble to become a martyr in such a cause. I entreat you not to go. I fear for your safety."
Tournay's head swam. For a moment he felt that he must fold her in his arms and tell her that for her sake he would give up everything in the world for which he had striven,—country, liberty, and honor; the Republic itself.
With a mighty effort he threw off the feeling of weakness, passionately crying, "For God's sake, mademoiselle, do not speak to me like that. You will make me forget my manhood. You will make me act so that your respect, which I have been so fortunate as to win, will turn to contempt. You could almost make me turn traitor to the Republic."
"What is this Republic? this creature of the imagination which you place above all else in the world?" she asked impetuously. "What has it done for France? What has it done for you?"
Before Tournay could answer, the sound of martial music was heard outside, and the measured tread of passing troops shook the room. He stepped to the window and drawing aside the curtains motioned Edmé to come to his side.