would do it, Monsieur," she answered him.
"It is not mine to enlighten you; I know not how."

"I have the very best will in the world, Citoyenne," said he. "Of that I
think that I am giving proof."

"Aye, the will to do nothing that will shame your manhood," she
rejoined. "That is all you think of. It was because your manhood bade
you that you came to my rescue--so you said when you declined my thanks.
It is this manhood of yours, I make no doubt, that is now prevailing
upon you to deliver two unprotected women out of the hands of these
brigands."

"In Heaven's name, Citoyenne," quoth the astonished Deputy, "out of what
sentiment would you have me act, and, indeed, so that I save you, how
can it concern you by what sentiment I am prompted?"

She paused a moment before replying. Her eyes were downcast, and some of
the colour faded from her cheeks. She came a step nearer, which brought
her very close to him.

"Monsieur," she faltered very shyly, "in the old days at Bellecour you
would have served me out of other sentiments."

He started now in spite of himself, and eyed her with a sudden gleam of
hope, or triumph, or mistrust, or perhaps of all three. Then his glance
fell, and his voice was wistful.

"But the old days are dead, Mademoiselle."

"The days, yes," she answered, taking courage from his tone. "But love
Monsieur, is everlasting--it never dies, they say."

And now it was La Boulaye who drew closer, and this man who had
so rigidly schooled himself out of all emotions, felt his breath
quickening, and his pulses throbbing faster and faster. To him it seemed
that she was right, and that love never died--for the love for her,
which he believed he had throttled out of existence long ago, seemed of
a sudden to take life as vigorously as ever. And then it was as if some
breeze out of the past bore to his nostrils the smell of the violets and
of the moist earth of that April morning when she had repulsed him in
the woods of Bellecour. His emotion died down. He drew back, and stood
rigid before her.

"And if it were to live, Citoyenne," he said--the resumption of the
Republican form of address showed that he had stepped back into the
spirit as well as in the flesh "what manner of fool were I to again
submit it to the lash of scorn it earned when first it was discovered?"

"But that belonged to the old days," she cried, "and it is dead with the
old days.'

"It is vain to go back, Citoyenne," he cut in, and hi