Ours are flowers, yours
are stars! See, I betray myself, I am so poor a patriot. And there is
one among these stars--ah, yes, there is one--the poor Frenchman has
observe' from his humble distance; even there he could bask in the
glowing!" M. Beaucaire turned to the window, and looked out into the
dark. He did not see the lights of the town. When he turned again, he
had half forgotten his prisoner; other pictures were before him.
"Ah, what radiance!" he cried. "Those people up over the sky, they want
to show they wish the earth to be happy, so they smile, and make this
lady. Gold-haired, an angel of heaven, and yet a Diana of the chase! I
see her fly by me on her great horse one day; she touch' his mane with
her fingers. I buy that clipping from the groom. I have it here with my
dear brother's picture. Ah, you! Oh, yes, you laugh! What do you know!
'Twas all I could get. But I have heard of the endeavor of M. le Duc to
recoup his fortunes. This alliance shall fail. It is not the way--that
heritage shall be safe' from him! It is you and me, monsieur! You can
laugh! The war is open', and by me! There is one great step taken: until
to-night there was nothing for you to ruin, to-morrow you have got a
noble of France--your own protege--to besiege and sack. And you are
to lose, because you think such ruin easy, and because you understand
nothing--far less--of divinity.
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