ay that
despite his depression he contemplated his fate without regret.
Normally he would have wanted to live as much as any man, even though
in his more passionate moments he had said that life without Laure
d'Aumenier held nothing for him. To be sure, life without her did not
look very inviting, and there was nothing in it for which he
particularly cared, especially since the Emperor was gone, and Marteau
had become a stranger, as it were, in France. If the Emperor had come
back, or was coming back, it would be different.

In spite of rumors, originating nowhere apparently and spread by what
means no one could say, that the Emperor was coming back, Marteau, in
the depressed condition of his mind, gave these statements but little
credence. Besides, even if they were true, even if Laure d'Aumenier
loved him, even if he had everything on earth for which a man could ask
or expect to live, he could not therewith purchase life; he could not
even purchase love, at the expense of his honor.

He could not give up the Eagle for the kingdom. It was only a bit of
gilded copper, battered and shattered, but it awakened in his nature
the most powerful emotions which he was capable of entertaining. His
love for Laure d'Aumenier was the great passion of his life. Yet even
his love for the woman, or hers for him, if she had returned his
devotion with equal intensity and ardor, would not avail to persuade
him to give up that battered standard.

Even if she had loved him! Ah, what had she said in that moment of
madness in her room that night? It was a moment of madness, of course,
nothing else. Marteau put it out of his mind, or strove to. It could
not be. Indeed, now that he was about to die, he would even admit that
it should not be. But, if it were true, if that impulsive declaration
indicated the true state of her regard--the possibility was thrilling,
yet reflection convinced him it was better that he should die just the
same, because there could be no mating between the two.

He had crossed swords with the Marquis. He had felt the hardness, the
inflexibility and temper of the old man's steel. There would be no
breaking him, no altering his will. He had made assurance doubly sure
in some way, Marteau was convinced. This marriage with this young
Englishman, whom the Frenchman regarded with a tolerant, half-amused
contemptuousness for his simplicity and bluntness, would have to be
carried through. When Marteau was