BLANCHE DE BEAULIEU. 253 
soul? for whom he would have gladly sacrificed every thing but 
honour 2 Must he leave her, alone and unprotected, in a city 
through the streets of which daily flowed the blood of those unhap- 
py victims who were, like her, obnoxious to the republican govern- 
ment? Blanche was present when the order was given to him, and 
perceiving his agitation, hastily enquired what had discomposed him. 
Without a word, he put into her hands the document he had just 
received. She saw in a moment the danger to which he would 
would expose himself in neglecting to obey it, and, though her own 
heart beat violently as she spoke, she enforced upon him the neces- 
sity of his instant departure. Marceau gazed on her scornfully. 
« And can you, too, Blanche, command me to go?” he said: and 
then, starting up, paced the room with hasty strides, muttering to 
himself, “ Fool! madman that I am, to have imagined she would 
regret my absence! How could I dream that she would regard me 
with any other feeling than indifference?” A stifled sob met his 
ear. Unable any longer to restrain her emotions, Blanche had 
burst into tears, and was now weeping violently. In an instant he 
was by her side. y 
«« Pardon me, Blanche ; pardon my impetuosity !” he wildly ex- 
claimed, ‘for I am very, very wretched, and misery makes us reck- 
less.” Then, taking her trembling hand, he continued, in a calmer 
voice, “The war we are now waging, Blanche, is a cruel and 
deadly one: it is more than probable we shall never meet again. I 
have always had a presentiment that my life would be a short one. 
If I fall, promise me that I shall not be altogether forgotten by you 
—that a thought of me will sometimes recal to your memory the 
transient dream of happiness from which we have been so suddenly 
awakened. For myself, Blanche, I can only assure you that if, 
between life and death, there is time for these lips to breathe one 
word, it will be your name.” Blanche could not speak, but Mar- 
ceau read in her eyes a thousand more tender promises than that he 
had required of her. 
The uecessary orders for his departure were given, and in an 
hour afterwards he had quitted Nantes. His road lay in the same 
direction as that which he had so lately traversed with Blanche by 
his side, therefore every object he passed only served to recal her 
more vividly to his memory. Was it possible that one little month 
back he had never seen her? And now, a new existence seemed 
opened to him. He thought of the unprotected state in which he 
had left her, and a terrible misgiving came across his mind. He 
reined in his steed, and felt half inclined to return to Nantes, and 
