"Monsieur, I am grateful - very, very deeply grateful. I can say no more. May Heaven reward you. I shall pray the good God to watch over you always. Adieu, Monsieur!"
He stood looking at her a moment still retaining his hold of her hands.
"Adieu, Mademoiselle,"he said at last. Then, very slowly - as if so that realising his intent she might frustrate it were she so minded - he raised her right hand. It was not withdrawn, and so he bent low, and pressed his lips upon it.
"God guard you, Mademoiselle,"he said at last, and if they were strange words for a Republican and a Deputy, it must be remembered that his bearing during the past few moments had been singularly unlike a Republican's.
He released her hand, and stepping back, doffed his hat. With a final inclination of the head, she turned and walked away in the direction of the terrace.
At a distance La Boulaye followed, so lost in thought that he did not observe Captain Juste until the fellow's voice broke upon his ear.
"You have been long enough, Citizen-deputy," was the soldier's greeting. "I take it there is to be no duel."
"I make you my compliments upon the acuteness of your perception," answered La Boulaye tartly. "You are right. There is to be no encounter."
Juste's air was slightly mocking, and words of not overdelicate banter rose to his lips, to be instantly quelled by La Boulaye.
"Let your drums beat a rally, Citizen-captain,"he commanded briskly.
"We leave Bellecour in ten minutes.".
And indeed, in less than that time the blue-coats were swinging briskly down the avenue. In the rear rode La Boulaye, his cloak wrapped about him, his square chin buried in his neck-cloth, and his mind deep in meditation.
>From a window of the Chateau the lady who was the cause of the young Revolutionist's mental absorption watched the departing soldiers.
On either side of her stood Ombreval and her father.
"My faith, little one," said Bellecour good-humouredly. "I wonder what magic you have exercised to rid us of that infernal company."
"Women have sometimes a power of which men know nothing," was her cryptic answer.
Ombreval turned to her with a scowl of sudden suspicion.
"I trust, Mademoiselle, that you did not - " he stopped short. His thoughts were of a quality that defied polite utterance.
"That I did not what, Monsieur?"she asked.
"I trust you remembered that you are to become the Vicomtesse d'Ombreval" he answered, constructing his sentence differently.
"Monsieur!" exclaimed Bellecour angrily.
"I was chiefly mindful of the fact that I had my brother's life to save," said the girl, very coldly, her eye resting upon her betrothed in a glance of so much contempt that it forced him into an abashed silence.
In her mind she was contrasting this supercilious, vacillating weakling with the stern, strong man who lode yonder. A sigh fluttered across her lips. Had things but been different. Had Ombreval been the Revolutionist and La Boulaye the Vicomte, how much better pleased might she not have been. But since it was not so, why sigh? It was not as if she had loved this La Boulaye.
How was that possible? Was he not of the canaille, basely born, and a Revolutionist - the enemy of her order - in addition? It were a madness to even dream of the possibility of such a thing, for Suzanne de Bellecour came of too proud a stock, and knew too well the respect that was due to it.