the dignity
and splendor of which hurry would detract. At another time the woman
might have shrunk back faltering, she might have voiced a protest, or
temporized, but now, in the presence of death itself, as it were, she
stood steady waiting for him. Enjoying the luxury of looking upon him
unrestrained, her heart going out to him as he drew nearer, nearer,
nearer, she found herself tremblingly longing for his actual touch.

Now his arms went out to her, she felt them slowly fold around her, and
then, like a whirlwind released, he crushed her against his breast,
and, as she hung there, her throbbing heart making answer to the
beating of his own, he kissed her again, again, again. Her heart
almost stopped its beating. Beneath the fire of his lips her face
burned. Her head drooped at last, her tense body gave way, she leaned
upon him heavily, glad for the support of his strong arms.

"Laure," he whispered, "my little Laure, you love me. Oh, my God, you
love me. It was true, then. I did not dream it. My ears did not mock
me."

"Yes, yes," said the woman at last. "Whoever you are, whatever you
are, wherever you go, I love you."

"And was it to tell me this that you came?"

"Yes. But not for this alone."

"What else?"

"I would have you live."

"For you?"

"For me."

"As your husband?"

"And if that were possible would you----"

"Yes, yes, would I what?"

"Give up the Eagle?"

"My God!" said the man, loosening his clasp of her a little and holding
her a little away that he might look at her. "Does your love tempt me
to dishonor?"

"I do not know," said the woman piteously. "I am confused. I cannot
think aright. Oh, Marteau, Jean, with whom I played as a child, think
of me. I cannot bear to see you dead outside there. I cannot look
upon a soldier without thinking of it. The rattling of the carts in
the streets sounds in my ear like shots. Don't, don't die. You must
not."

"And, if I lived, would you love me?"

"So long as the good God gives me the breath of life."

"With the love of youth and the love of age?"

"Aye, for eternity."

"And would you be my wife?"

"Your wife?" said the woman, her face changing. "It would be joy
beyond all, but I could not."

"Why not?"

"I--you know I am promised to another," she went on desperately, "and
but that I might see you I repeated the promise. Otherwise my uncle
would never have permitted me this blessed privilege. I told him that