words and drawing herself up proudly. "But he fancies he is serving you
by imposing this condition, and I confess that I--I dared not tell him
that you no longer loved me, lest I should lose the one hold I had on
him. For d'Azay, for me, he will do absolutely nothing." From the shadow
of the curtain she watched Calvert's face for some sign that she was
mistaken, that after all he did still love her, that what she had asked
of him would be no life-long sacrifice, but the dearest joy. But none
came. He stood quiet and thoughtful, looking down into the firelight and
betraying nothing of the conflict going on within him. His one thought
was to find a way out of this horrible trap for her, or, failing that,
to make it as easy as possible for her. He stilled the wild exultation
he felt that was making his feverish pulse leap and sink by turns. He
tried to put away temptation from him--to think only for her. This
incredible, unlooked-for happiness was not for him. He searched about in
his mind for words that would make her understand that he knew what
anguish had driven her to this extremity; that would convince her that
she had nothing to fear from him and that he would meet her as he felt
sure she wished him to meet her.

"What he asks is madness," he said, at length. "I know only too well the
insurmountable objections you have to doing what he demands; if I can
convince him of these--if I can convince him that it is also not my
wish--that he can best serve me by not insisting on this thing----"

"Then, indeed, I think all is lost," said Adrienne, quietly. "He
professes that he can do nothing for the French emigrant d'Azay, only
for the brother of the American, Calvert. There is no hope left for us
except through himself and Danton, since it is already known that d'Azay
is to be accused to-morrow, and, indeed, there is scarce time to seek
other aid," she added, despairingly.