Marie withdrew hastily into the
cottage, obeying one of those instinctive promptings which are as
little explicable as fear itself. The young man was soon beside her
before the chimney, where a bright fire was burning. Both were
voiceless, fearing to look at each other, or even to make a movement.
One and the same hope united them, the same doubt; it was agony, it
was joy.
"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil at last, in a trembling
voice, "your safety alone has brought me here."
"My safety!" he said, bitterly.
"Yes," she answered; "so long as I stay at Fougeres your life is
threatened, and I love you too well not to leave it. I go to-night."
"Leave me! ah, dear love, I shall follow you."
"Follow me!--the Blues?"
"Dear Marie, what have the Blues got to do with our love?"
"But it seems impossible that you can stay with me in France, and
still more impossible that you should leave it with me."
"Is there anything impossible to those who love?"
"Ah, true! true! all is possible--have I not the courage to resign
you, for your sake."
"What! you could give yourself to a hateful being whom you did not
love, and you refuse to make the happiness of a man who adores you,
whose life you fill, who swears to be yours, and yours only. Hear me,
Marie, do you love me?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then be mine.
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