"Your words, Marie, only increase the brilliancy of the halo which
encircles your head. They legalize the rights of my sword. I, too, adore
my native land--no one more than I! I, too, bow before the infinite
judge and submit my case to His wise decision. O God, Thou who
protecteth France, look down and behold him who rides yonder, his horse
ankle-deep in the blood of his countrymen, who looks without pity on the
dying legions and says, 'It is well!' Then, O God, look Thou upon this
saint here, who prays for her persecutors, and pass judgment between the
two: which of the two is Thy image on earth?"
"Oh, pray understand me," in a pleading voice interposed Marie, passing
her trembling fingers over Ludwig's cheek. "Not one drop of heroic blood
flows in my veins. I am not the offspring of those great women who
crowned with their own hands their knights to send them into battle. I
dread to lose you, Ludwig; I have no one in this wide world but you. On
this whole earth there is not another orphan so desolate as I am! When
you go to war, and I am left here all alone, what will become of me? Who
will care for me and love me then?"
Vavel gently drew the young girl to his breast.
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