rally to acknowledge his voice as the first in their
councils.
They were occasionally at Durbelliere; but there Cathelineau was again
abashed and confused. He could not calmly endure the quiet loveliness
of Agatha's face, or the sweet music of her voice. He himself felt that
his brain was not cool when there; that his mind was gradually teaching
itself to dwell on subjects, which in his position would be awfully
dangerous to him. He never owned to himself that he was in love with the
fair angel, whom he considered as much above him as the skies are above
the earth; but he would walk for hours through those eternal paths in
the chateau garden, regardless of the figures, regardless of the various
turns and twists he took, dreaming of the bliss of being beloved by such
a woman as Agatha Larochejaquelin. He built for himself splendid castles
in the air, in which he revelled day after day; and in these dreams he
always endowed himself with that one gift which no talents, no courage,
no success could give him--high birth and noble blood, for he strongly
felt that without these, no one might look up to the goddess of his
idolatry; it was his delight to imagine to himself with what ecstasy he
would receive from her lips the only adequate reward of his patriotism;
he would quicken his pace with joy as he dreamt that he heard her sweet
voice bidding him to persevere, and then he would return to her after
hard fighting, long doubtful but victorious battles, and lay at her feet
honours worthy of her acceptance.
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