. .
Marguerite, too--contemplating the love which was going from her
forever, her vanished hopes, the future illumined by the satisfaction of
duty fulfilled but monotonous and painful--cried out:
"And I. . . . What will become of me?" . . .
As though he had suddenly found a solution which was reviving his
courage, Desnoyers said:
"Listen, Marguerite: I can read your soul. You love this man, and you
do well. He is superior to me, and women are always attracted by
superiority. . . . I am a coward. Yes, do not protest, I am a coward
with all my youth, with all my strength. Why should you not have been
impressed by the conduct of this man! . . . But I will atone for past
wrongs. This country is yours, Marguerite; I will fight for it. Do not
say no. . . ."
And moved by his hasty heroism, he outlined the plan more definitely. He
was going to be a soldier. Soon she would hear him well spoken of.
His idea was either to be stretched on the battlefield in his first
encounter, or to astound the world by his bravery. In this way the
impossible situation would settle itself--either the oblivion of death
or glory.
"No, no!" interrupted Marguerite in an anguished tone. "You, no! One
is enough. . . . How horrible! You, too, wounded, mutilated forever,
perhaps dead! . . . No, you must live. I want you to live, even though
you might belong to another.
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