"Well--but--Mademoiselle, for God's sake let us understand one another," cried Paul, "Here stand I, professing to love you. Am I not to be loved again because I am a soldier of Napoleon? As soon I might say that I must not love a subject of Alexander. Your patriotism is delightful; I love you the better for it, but your conclusion is ridiculous."
"What would you have, Paul? I do not know my own mind. I like you; it is possible that one day I may be able to say that I love you. I am young; I am not yet sure what is love and what is 'like'. Is it not enough?"
"No, a thousand times no! I must possess you--hold you--caress you--release you only when the last moment arrives, under promise that when we meet in Moscow----"
This was an unfortunate remark on Paul's part. Vera fired up instantly, receding a step or two from him, for Paul had approached and held her tenderly by the elbows, ready to take her to his arms if permitted to do so.
"When we meet in Moscow?" she cried. "God send that may never be, never, never! Sooner I would never see you again than meet you, as you suggest, in Moscow. Do you think I do not realise what you mean by meeting in Moscow? I tell you, Paul, God forbid that I meet you there!"
Paul recoiled a little, abashed. "I apologise, Mademoiselle," he said; "of course I should not have permitted myself to use so foolish an expression. When the war is over, I should have said."
"When the war is over, love may begin or may not," Vera replied. "This is not the time to speak of love. I will not shame myself a second time. Go, Paul--I am a traitor to have said what I said--forget it--farewell!"
"I swear I will never forget it," said Paul. "You are cruel, Vera; I do not understand your attitude; you are not like a woman!"
"I am a Russian; my heart bleeds for my country which lies under the shadow of Napoleon and his Grand Army, of which you are a member. It is hateful of me to have spoken of love with a French soldier. Go, Paul, I entreat you." She held out her hand, Paul bent over and kissed it. Then he left the room without a word.
At the Palais d'armes of old Pierre Dupré there was excitement. Both Karl Havet, Marie's fiancé, and young Maux, the second assistant, had received their conscription notices; both had been drawn; unless physically unfit or unsound, both men must serve in Napoleon's new and greatest army.