"
Breton's heart contracted. "But Monsieur le Marquis . . . ?"
"Will return alone. Go with him, lad; you are homesick. Go and marry
old Martin's daughter, and be happy. It would be wrong for me to rob
you of your youth's right."
"But you, Monsieur?"
"I shall remain here. I have my time to serve. After that, France,
maybe . . . or become a grand seigneur."
The Chevalier put on his hat. He had an idle hour.
Breton choked back the sob. "I will remain with you, Monsieur, for the
present. I was wondering where in the world that copy of Rabelais had
gone. I had not seen it since we left the ship Saint Laurent." The
lad patted the book with a fictitious show of affection.
"Possibly in the hurry of bringing it here you dropped it, and some
one, seeing my name in it, has returned it."
"Never to see France again?" murmured Breton, alone. "Ah, if only I
loved her less, or Monsieur Paul not so well!" Even Breton had his
tragedy.
The Chevalier perched himself upon one of the citadel's parapets. The
southwest wind was tumbling the waters of the river and the deep blues
of the forests seemed continually changing in hues.
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