n broke on him as he wrestled with that grim
temptation. Valerie was his; she belonged to him by the right of dangers
shared; never had mother in her labours been nearer death for the
offspring's sake than had he for Valerie during the days that were sped
and the hours that were but gone. She belonged to him by the title of
those dangers he had been through. What had Florimond done to establish
his claim to her? He had remained absent during long years, a-warring in
a foreign land. With how many banal loves might not the fellow in that
time have strewn his soldier's path! Garnache knew well how close does
Cupid stalk in the wake of Mars, knew well the way of these gay soldiers
and the lightness of their loves.

Was, then, this fellow to come now and claim her, when perils were past,
when there was naught left to do but lead her to the altar? Could he be
worthy of such a pearl of womanhood, this laggard who, because a fever
touched him, sat him down in an inn within a few hours' ride of her to
rest him, as though the world held no such woman as Valerie?

And she, herself, by what ties was she bound to him? By the ties of an
old promise, given at an age when she knew not what love meant. He
had talked of it with her, and he knew how dispassionately she awaited
Florimond's return. Florimond might be betrothed to her--her father and
his had encompassed that between them--but no lover of hers was he.

Thus far did his thoughts journey, and temptation gripped him ever more
and more strongly. And then his manhood and his honour awoke with a
shudder, as awakens a man from an ugly dream. What manner of fool was
he? he asked himself again. Upon what presumptions did he base his silly
musings? Did he suppose that even were there no Florimond, it would be
left for a harsh, war-worn old greybeard such as he to awaken tenderness
in the bosom of that child? The tenderness of friendship perhaps--she
had confessed to that; but the tenderness of her sweet love must be won
by a younger, comelier man.

If love had indeed touched him at last, let him be worthy of it and of
her who inspired it. Let him strain every sinew in her service, asking
no guerdon; let him save the life of the man to whom she was affianced;
let him save her from the clutches of the Marquise de Condillac and her
beautiful, unscrupulous son.

He put his folly from him and-went on, seeking to hold his mind to the
planning of his to-morrow's journey and its business.