Do they know of this?" she cried. "Of this!" And she pointed
with a gesture of loathing to the black gibbet on the farther strand.
He shook his head. "I think not," he muttered. And after a moment, "God
help you!" he added fervently. "God help and guide you, Madame!"
She turned on him suddenly, fiercely. "Is that all you can do?" she
cried. "Is that all the help you can give? You are a man. Go down,
lead them out; drive off these cowards who drain our life's blood, who
trade on a woman's heart! On them! Do something, anything, rather than
lie in safety here--here!"
The minister shook his head sadly. "Alas, Madame!" he said, "to sally
were to waste life. They outnumber us three to one. If Count Hannibal
could do no more than break through last night, with scarce a man
unwounded--"
"He had the women!"
"And we have not him!"
"He would not have left us!" she cried hysterically.
"I believe it."
"Had they taken me, do you think he would have lain behind walls? Or
skulked in safety here, while--while--" Her voice failed her.
He shook his head despondently.
"And that is all you can do?" she cried, and turned from him, and to him
again, extending her arms, in bitter scorn. "All you will do? Do you
forget that twice he spared your life? That in Paris once, and once in
Angers, he held his hand? That always, whether he stood or whether he
fled, he held himself between us and harm? Ay, always? And who will now
raise a hand for him? Who?"
"Madame!"
"Who? Who? Had he died in the field," she continued, her voice shaking
with grief, her hands beating the parapet--for she had turned from
him--"had he fallen where he rode last night, in the front, with his face
to the foe, I had viewed him tearless, I had deemed him happy! I had
prayed dry-eyed for him who--who spared me all these days and weeks! Whom
I robbed and he forgave me! Whom I tempted, and he forbore me! Ay, and
who spared not once or twice him for whom he must now--he must now--" And
unable to finish the sentence she beat her hands again and passionately
on the stones.
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