not think that any one of them,
nor so much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. No, no,
madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark and
dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut
after him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once
I am dead I shall have none."

"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche de
Maletroit."

"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate a
little service far beyond its worth."

"It is not that," she answered. "You mistake me if you think I am so
easily touched by my own concerns. I say so, because you are the
noblest man I have ever met; because I recognize in you a spirit that
would have made even a common person famous in the land."

"And yet here I die in a mousetrap--with no more noise about it than my
own squeaking," answered he.

A look of pain crossed her face, and she was silent for a little while.
Then a light came into her eyes and with a smile she spoke again.

"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. Any one who gives
his life for another will be met in paradise by all the heralds and
angels of the Lord God. And you have no such cause to hang your head.
For.... Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a flush.

"Indeed, madam, I do," he said.

"I am glad of that," she answered heartily. "Do you think there are
many men in France who have been in marriage by a beautiful
maiden--with her own lips--and who have refused her to her face? I
know you men would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, we
women know more of what is precious in love. There is nothing that
should set a person higher in his own esteem; and we women would prize
nothing more dearly."

"You are very good," he said; "but you cannot make me forget that I was
asked in pity and not for love."

"I am not so sure of that," she replied, holding down her head. "Hear
me to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; I
feel you are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy one
thought of your mind, although, alas! you must die for me this morning.
But when I asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it was because I
respected and admired you, and loved you with my whole soul, from the
very moment that you took my part against my uncle. If you had seen
yourself, and how noble you looked, you would pity rather than despise
me. And now," s