ruth for which he dared not say that he
could sacrifice himself.

"We are one, then," said Victor Le Roy. "It concerned me above all
things to prove that, Jacqueline. So you shall have no more to do with
these harvest-fields and vineyards henceforth, except to eat of the
fruits, if God will. You have borne all the burden and heat of labor you
shall ever bear. I can say that, with God's blessing. We shall sit under
our own vine. Death in one direction has prepared for life in another.
I inherit what my uncle can make use of no longer. We shall look out
on our own fields, our harvests; for I think this city will keep us no
longer than may he needful. We will go away into Picardy, and I will
show you where our Joan was a prisoner; and we will go back to Domremy,
and walk in the places she loved, and pray God to bless us by that
fountain, and in the grave-yard where your father and mother sleep. Oh,
Jacqueline, is it not all blessed and all fair?"

She could hardly comprehend all the brightness of this vision which
Victor Le Roy would fain bring before her. The paths he pointed out to
her were new and strange; but she could trust him, could believe that
together they might walk without stumbling.

She had nothing to say of her unfitness, her unworthiness, to occupy the
place to which he pointed. Not a doubt, not a fear, had she to express.
He loved her, and that she knew; and she had no thought of depreciating
his choice, its excellency or its wisdom. Whatever excess of wonder she
may have felt was not communicated. How know I that _she_ marvelled at
her lover's choice, though all the world might marvel?

Then remembering Mazurier, and thinking of her strength of faith, and
her high-heartedness, he was eager that Jacqueline should appoint their
marriage-day. And more than he, perhaps, supposed was betrayed by this
haste. He made his words profoundly good. Strong woman that she was, he
wanted her strength joined to his. He was secretly disquieted, secretly
afraid to trust himself, since this defection of Martial Mazurier.

What did hinder them? They might be married on Sunday, if she would:
they might go down together to the estate, which he must immediately
visit.

Through the hurry of thought, and the agitation of heart, and the rush
of seeming impossibilities, he brought out at length in triumph her
consent.

She did consent. It should all be as he wished. And so they parted
outside that town of Meaux on the fair