"Do you remember, my Amelie, how you answered me the last time we met, when I asked you to fly and spoke to you of your probable repugnance to the step?"
"Yes, I remember, Charles. I said that I was yours, and that, though I felt that repugnance, I would conquer it for your sake."
"And I replied that I had engagements which would prevent my leaving the country; that I was bound to others, and they to me; that our duty was to one man to whom we owed absolute obedience--the future King of France, Louis XVIII."
"Yes, you told me that."
"Well, we are now released from our pledges, Amelie, not only by the King, but by our general, Georges Cadoudal."
"Oh! my friend, then you will be as other men, only above all others."
"I shall become a simple exile, Amelie. There is no hope of our being included in the Breton or Vendean amnesty."
"Why not?"
"We are not soldiers, my darling child. We are not even rebels. We are Companions of Jehu."
Amelie sighed.
"We are bandits, brigands, highwaymen," said Morgan, dwelling on the words with evident intention.
"Hush!" said Amelie, laying her hand on her lover's lips. "Hush! don't let us speak of that. Tell me how it is that your king has released you, and your general also."
"The First Consul wished to see Cadoudal. In the first place, he sent your brother to him with certain proposals. Cadoudal refused to come to terms; but, like ourselves, he received orders from Louis XVIII. to cease hostilities. Coincident with that order came another message from the First Consul to Cadoudal. It was a safeguard for the Vendean general, and an invitation to come to Paris; an overture from one power to another power. Cadoudal accepted, and is now on his way to Paris. If it is not peace, it is at least a truce."
"Oh, what joy, my Charles!"
"Don't rejoice too much, my love."
"Why not?"
"Do you know why they have issued this order to suspend hostilities?"
"No."
"Because M. Fouche is a long-headed man. He realized that, since he could not defeat us, he must dishonor us. He has organized false companies of Jehu, which he has set loose in Maine and Anjou, who don't stop at the government money, but pillage and rob travellers, and invade the chateaux and farms by night, and roast the feet of the owners to make them tell where their treasure is hidden. Well, these men, these bandits, these _roasters_, have taken our name, and claim to be fighting for the same principles, so that M. Fouche and his police declare that we are not only beyond the pale of the law, but beyond that of honor."
"Oh!"
"That is what I wished to tell you before I ask you to fly with me, my Amelie. In the eyes of France, in the eyes of foreigners, even in the eyes of the prince we have served, and for whom we have risked the scaffold, we shall be hereafter, and probably are now, dishonored men worthy of the scaffold."
"Yes; but to me you are my Charles, the man of devoted convictions, the firm royalist, continuing to struggle for a cause when other men have abandoned it. To me you are the loyal Baron de Sainte-Hermine, or, if you like it better, you are to me the noble, courageous, invincible Morgan."
"Ah! that is what I longed to hear, my darling. If you feel thus, you will not hesitate, in spite of the cloud of infamy that hangs over our honor, you will not hesitate--I will not say to give yourself to me, for that you have already done--but to become my wife."
"Hesitate! No, not for an instant, not for a second! To do it is the joy of my soul, the happiness of my life! Your wife? I am your wife in the sight of God, and God will have granted my every prayer on the day that he enables me to be your wife before men."
Morgan fell on his knees.
"Then," he said, "here at your feet, with clasped hands and my whole heart supplicating, I say to you, Amelie, will you fly with me? Will you leave France with me? Will you be my wife in other lands?"
Amelie sprang erect and clasped her head in her hands, as though her brain were bursting with the force of the blood that rushed to it.
Morgan caught both her hands and looked at her anxiously.
"Do you hesitate?" he asked in a broken, trembling voice.
"No, not an instant!" she cried resolutely. "I am yours in the past, in the present, in the future, here, everywhere. Only the thought convulses me. It is so unexpected."
"Reflect well, Amelie. What I ask of you is to abandon country and family, all that is dear to you, all that is sacred. If you follow me, you leave the home where you were born, the mother who nurtured you, the brother who loves you, and who, perhaps, when he hears that you are the wife of a brigand, will hate you. He will certainly despise you."
As he spoke, Morgan's eyes were anxiously questioning Amelie's face.
Over that face a tender smile stole gradually, and then it turned from heaven to earth, and bent upon Morgan, who was still on his knees before her.
"Oh, Charles!" she murmured, in a voice as soft as the clear limpid river flowing at her feet, "the love that comes direct from the Divine is very powerful indeed, since, in spite of those dreadful words you have just uttered, I say to you without hesitation, almost without regret: Charles, I am here; Charles, I am yours. Where shall we go?"
"Amelie, our fate is not one to discuss. If we go, if you follow me, it must be at once. To-morrow we must be beyond the frontier."
"How do we go?"
"I have two horses, ready saddled at Montagnac, one for you, Amelie, and one for me. I have letters of credit for two hundred thousand francs on London and Vienna. We will go wherever you prefer."
"Wherever you are, Charles. What difference does it make so long as you are there?"
"Then come."
"Can I have five minutes, Charles; is that too much?"
"Where are you going?"
"To say good-by to many things, to fetch your precious letters and the ivory chaplet used at my first communion. Oh! there are many sacred cherished souvenirs of my childhood which will remind me over there of my mother, of France. I will fetch them and return."
"Amelie!"
"What is it?"
"I cannot leave you. If I part with you an instant now I feel that I shall lose you forever. Amelie, let me go with you."
"Yes, come. What matter if they see your footsteps now? We shall be far enough away to-morrow. Come!" The young man sprang from the boat and gave his hand to Amelie to help her out. Then he folded his arm about her and they walked to the house.
On the portico Charles stopped.
"Go on alone," said he; "memory is a chaste thing. I know that, and I will not embarrass you by my presence. I will wait here and watch for you. So long as I know you are close by me I do not fear to lose you.
Go, dear, and come back quickly."
Amelie answered with a kiss. Then she ran hastily up to her room, took the little coffer of carved oak clamped with iron, her treasury, which contained her lover's letters from first to last, unfastened from the mirror above her bed the white and virginal chaplet that hung there; put into her belt a watch her father had given her, and passed into her mother's bedchamber. There she stooped and kissed the pillow where her mother's head had lain, knelt before the Christ at the foot of the bed, began a thanksgiving she dared not finish, changed it to a prayer, and then suddenly stopped--she fancied she heard Charles calling her.
She listened and heard her name a second time, uttered in a tone of agony she could not understand. She quivered, sprang to her feet, and ran rapidly down the stairs.
"What is it?" cried Amelie, seizing the young man's hand.