"But," ejaculated Tournay, "I don't understand; it was agreed"—
She looked up at him. "I agreed to permit you to tell those wretches that I was your wife, Father Ambrose, your father, and you, all protesting that it was the only way to prevent them from destroying the château and those within it. But you also said that the marriage would not be considered valid, and as soon as the danger was over you would go away."
"I said," answered Tournay quietly, "that I should in no way consider the marriage valid; that when I had once taken you to a place of safety I should leave you. But until then I shall remain by your side."
"Some one said you would go away at once, either your father or the priest, and so I yielded. Now you tell me I must go away with you, and"—she hesitated at the words, "be known as your wife."
"But no one will know who you are," said Tournay earnestly. "The carriage will be a closed one—you shall have Agatha with you. No one shall be allowed to intrude upon you. Three or four days will bring us to the frontier. As soon as you are there, and in the care of some of your friends who have already emigrated, I will leave you. Cannot you trust me three days?" he asked sorrowfully.
"I cannot go with you," she repeated. "You are of the Republic—I have already accepted too much from your hands. Can I forget that those hands which you now stretch out to aid me have helped to tear down a throne? that like all the Republicans, you share the guilt of a king's murder?"
"I am only guilty of loving France more than the king. I did help to destroy a monarchy, but it was to build up a Republic."
"Then, instead of aiding, you should denounce me. I am of the Monarchy and I hate your Republic," she said defiantly. "I will accept protection from one of my own order or trust to God and my own efforts to preserve me."
"Where are those of your own order?" demanded Tournay bitterly. "They are scattered like leaves. Some have taken refuge in England or in Prussia. Some are hiding here in France. Your own class fail you in the time of need."
"They do not fail," cried Edmé. "If none are here it is because they are risking their lives elsewhere for our unhappy and hopeless cause; or languishing in your Republican prisons where so many of the chivalry of France lie awaiting death."