He drew his breath deeply. He dared not look into her eyes for fear she might see the tears in his; so he bent hastily and pressed her hands to his lips. But in his heart he knew that his promise to the dead was gone with the winds, and that he would shed the last drop of blood in his withered veins for the sake of this sad, lonely child.
“Your father, my child, will never stand up straight again,” he said. “As for the rest, that is in the hands of God. But I swear to you that this dried-up old heart beats only for you. I will stand or fall with you, in good times or bad.” And he rubbed his nose more fiercely than ever. “Had I a daughter--But there! I have none.”
“My heart is breaking,” she said, with a little sob. She sank back, her head drooped to the arm of the bench, and she made no effort to stem the flood of tears. “I have no mother, and now my father is to leave me. And I love him so, I love him so! He has sacrificed all his happiness to secure mine--in vain. I laugh and smile because he asks me to, and all the while my heart is breaking, breaking.”
At this juncture the doves rose hurriedly. The Marshal discovered the archbishop's valet making toward him.
“Monsieur the Marshal, Monseigneur breakfasts and requests you to join him.”
“Immediately;” and the Marshal rose. He placed his hand on the dark head. “Keep up your heart, my child,” he said, “and we shall see if I have grown too old for service.” He squared his shoulders and followed the valet, who viewed the scene with a valet's usual nonchalance. When the Marshal reached the steps to the side entrance, he looked back. The dog had taken his place, and the girl had buried her face in his neck. A moment later the old soldier was ushered into the archbishop's presence, but neither with fear nor uneasiness in his heart.
“Ah! Good morning, Marshal,” said the prelate. “Be seated. Did you not find it chilly in the gardens?”
“Not the least. It is a fine day. I have just left her Royal Highness.”
The prelate arched his eyebrows, and an interrogation shot out from under them.
“Yes,” answered the observant soldier. “My heart has ever been hers; this time it is my hand and brain.”
The prelate's egg spoon remained poised in mid-air; then it dropped with a clatter into the cup! But a moment gone he had held a sword in his hand; he was disarmed.