She did not raise her head. "We are both children of opportunity.
What is left either of us but ambition, monsieur?"
"You will help your cousin in his plans?"
"If he will work for the state."
"But you will not marry him?"
"Monsieur, I bear your name! That--that troubles me sorely. To bear
your name yet work against France! Yet what can I do?"
I touched her hair. "Carry my name and do what you will. I shall
understand. As to what the world thinks,--we are past caring for that,
madame."
And then for a time we sat silent. I thought, with stupid iteration,
of how like a jest this had sounded when the woman said it to me in the
forest: a matter for coquetry, a furnishing of foils for the game. If
I had realized then---- But no, what could I have done?
One thing my thought cried incessantly,--women were not made for
patriotism. Yet even as accompaniment to the thought, a long line of
women who had given up life and family for country passed before my
memory. Could I say that this woman beside me had not equal spirit?
It seemed long that we sat there, though I think that it was not. I
laid my hand on hers, and she turned her palm that she might clasp my
fingers.
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