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You are all that I have left. I have lost Mazurier. Jacqueline, you are a woman, but you never, yes! yes! though I dare not say as much of myself, I dare say it of you, you never could have bought your liberty at such a price as Martial has paid.
To the eloquence of Mazurier, whose utterances she laid up in her heart, to the fervor of Le Roy, which left her eyes not dry, her soul not calm, but strong in its commotion, grasping fast the eternal truths which he, too, would proclaim, she listened. She was not only now among them, she was of them, of them forevermore.
Should Love retreat before the fierce onset of Hate? These brave men said not so. And they looked above them and all human aid for succor, Jacqueline with them. When Mazurier and Victor Le Roy went away, they left Jacqueline with the wool-comber's mother, but they did not pass by her without notice. Martial lingered for a moment, looking down on the young girl.
He intended to aid her; but Mazurier himself had never uttered comments so entirely to the purpose as did this young girl, speaking from heart and brain. Better fortune, apparently, could not have befallen him than was his in this reading; for with every sentence almost came her comment, clear, earnest, to the point. He had need of such a friend as Jacqueline seemed able to prove herself.
With Victor Le Roy such self-deception, such sophistry, was simply impossible. Not of purpose did he meet Jacqueline that night. She had heard that Le Roy was at liberty, and alone now she applied at the door of Martial Mazurier for admittance, but in vain. The master had signified that his evening was not to be interrupted.
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