led--"I could not leave to-morrow with no more
than a pleasing kind of regret. Names that I ought to have recalled I
forgot; incidents were cloudy, like childish remembrances. I was not
proud of it; the peasant in me spoke against it sometimes. I even have
wished that I, half peasant, had been--"

"If only you had been all peasant, this war, this misery of mine, had
never been," she interrupted.

He nodded with an almost boyish candour. "Yes, yes, but I was half
prince also; I had been brought up, one foot in a cottage and another in
a palace. But for your misery: is it, then, misery? Need it be so? But
lift your finger and all will be well. Do you wish to save your country?
Would that be compensation? Then I will show you the way. We have three
times as many soldiers as the English, though of poorer stuff. We could
hold this place, could defeat them, if we were united and had but two
thousand men. We have fifteen thousand. As it is now, Vaudreuil balks
Montcalm, and that will ruin us in the end unless you make it otherwise.
You would be a patriot? Then shut out forever this English captain from
your heart, and open its doors to me. To-morrow I will take Vaudreuil's
place, put your father in Bigot's, your brother in Ramesay's--they are
both perfect and capable; I will strengthen the excellent Montcalm's
hands in every way, will inspire the people, and cause the English to
raise this siege. You and I will do this: the Church will bless us, the
State will thank us; your home and country will be safe and happy, your
father and brother honoured. This, and far, far greater things I will do
for your sake."

He paused. He had spoken with a deep power, such as I knew he could use,
and I did not wonder that she paled a little, even trembled before it.

"Will you not do it for France?" she said.

"I will not do it for France," he answered. "I will do it for you alone.
Will you not be your country's friend? It is no virtue in me to plead
patriotism--it is a mere argument, a weapon that I use; but my heart
is behind it, and it is a means to that which you will thank me for
one day. I would not force you to anything, but I would persuade your
reason, question your foolish loyalty to a girl's mistake. Can you think
that you are right? You have no friend that commends your cause; the
whole country has upbraided you, the Church has cut you off from the
man. All is against reunion with him, and most of all your own honour.
Come wit