"It would be no sacrifice."

"I repeat, I cannot consent to be under such obligation, even to you."

"There is a way----" began the young Frenchman softly, shooting a
meaning glance at the young woman.

"I do not understand," she faltered.

"I am peasant born," admitted Marteau, "but, though no gentle blood
flows through my veins, my family, I think, is as old as your own."

"It is so," agreed the Countess, trembling as she began to catch the
meaning. "Oh, monsieur, stop."

"As there has never a d'Aumenier failed to hold the chateau so there
has never failed a Marteau to follow him," went on the young man,
unheeding her protest.

"I care as little for distinctions of rank as any demoiselle of old
France, perhaps, but----"

"Mademoiselle is right. As for myself, I am a republican at heart,
although I follow the Emperor. I, too, care little for the
distinctions of rank, for titles, yet I have earned a title in the
service of the Emperor. Through him, even humble men rise high and go
far. Will you----"

"Monsieur, you must not go on!" cried the girl, "thrusting out her
hand, as if to check him.

"Pardon," said the young Frenchman resolutely. "Having gone thus far I
must go further. Humble as I am, obscure though I be, I have dared to
raise my eyes to heaven--to you, mademoiselle. In my boyhood days you
honored me with your friendship, your companionship. I have made
something of myself. If mademoiselle would only deign to---- It is
impossible that she should love me--it would be an ineffable
condescension--but is there not some merit in the thought that the last
survivors of the two lines should unite to----"

"Impossible!" cried the Countess, her face flushing. "My uncle would
never consent. In my veins is the oldest, the noblest blood of France.
Even I could not----"

"Be it so," said Marteau, paling, but standing very erect. "It is, of
course, impossible. There is not honor enough or merit enough in the
world," he went on bitterly, "to obliterate the difference in station
between us. The revolution, after all, changed little. Keep the
title, keep the estates, mademoiselle, I want them not," continued the
young soldier bitterly. "Having aspired to you, do you think these are
compensations?"

"You saved my life," said the girl falteringly.

"It was nothing. You did as much for me."

"And my honor," she added.

"I ask no reward."

"By gad!" said Yeovil at this juncture, "I'm damn