Wonderingly she approached and saw a brigade of infantry passing in review of the general of division. They marched with absolute precision, the sun reflecting on the polished barrels of their guns as on a solid wall.
"There go the best troops in the world," said Tournay. Edmé looked up in his face with surprise at his sudden change of manner.
"The soldiers of Prussia: at the command of their officers they will march like that to the batteries' mouth, closing up the gap of the fallen men with clock-work movements. There are two hundred thousand of them, and they are preparing to attack France. Joined with them are the tried veterans of Austria. On the sea," he continued, "the fleets of England are bearing down upon the ports of France. In the south, Spain is pouring her soldiers over the Pyrenees. These allied armies have banded together to destroy France. Yet we shall throw them back again, as we did at Wattignes and at Jemappes. There the flower of the European armies was scattered by our raw French troops. Although outnumbered and outmanœuvred, the men of France hurled back their foes in broken and disordered array. And why? Because in the heart of every Frenchman burns the new-born fire of liberty. He is fighting for the freedom he has bought so dearly. He is fighting for that Republic which has made him what he is—a man! It is France against the world! and by the Republic alone will she triumph over her enemies. That is my answer, mademoiselle. The Republic has made a new France, and I am part of it. At her call I must leave everything and go to her defense."
While he spoke thus, Edmé saw his face animated with a light she had learned to know so well,—the same light that had shone from his eyes when he confronted the mob in her château; the same fire that flashed as he defended himself before General von Waldenmeer.
"You say I place my duty to the Republic above any earthly consideration," he said. "Let me tell you that I hold your respect still dearer. If I should desert my cause, the cause for which I have lived, should I not lose that respect? Ask your own heart, mademoiselle, would it not be so?"
She stood in silence. Then her eyes met his. He read her answer there before she spoke, and in the look she gave him he thought he read still more—something he dared not believe, scarcely dared hope.
"You are right," she replied, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Go back to France! It is I who bid you go."
"I knew you would tell me to go," he replied.
The sound of voices in the corridor outside fell upon their ears.
"There are Gaillard and the escort," said Tournay, sadly. "Mademoiselle, good-by! I may never see you again. But I thank God that you are here in safety, and I shall find some happiness in the thought that I have been an instrument in your deliverance."