Florent.
For some time, Cathelineau had been unable to define to himself the
passion which he felt, but had gradually become aware that he loved
Agatha passionately, incurably, and hopelessly. Her image had been
present to him continually; it had been with him in the dead of night,
and in the heat of day; in the hour of battle, and at the council-table;
in the agony of defeat, and in the triumph of victory. When he found
himself falling in the square at Nantes, and all visible objects seemed
to swim before his eyes, still he saw Agatha's beautiful pale face, and
then she seemed to smile kindly on him, and to bid him hope. As soon as
his senses returned to him, he was made conscious that he was dying, and
then he felt that he should die more happily if he could see once more
the fair angel, who had illuminated and yet troubled the last few days
of his existence.
Cathelineau had heard that Agatha had taken under her own kind care the
hospital at St. Laurent, but he had not expected that she would be on
the step to meet him as he was lifted out of his litter; but hers was
the first face he saw on learning that his painful journey was at an
end.
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