"All
La Vendee knows it," continued he; "but no one knows the grief, the
sorrow, the wretched sorrow, which drove me to madness, and made me
become the thing I am. I know it though, and feel it here," and he put
his hand on his heart, and looked into his companion's face with a
melancholy gaze, which would have softened the anger of a sterner man
than Henri Larochejaquelin.
"My poor, poor Adolphe," said Henri, moving himself close to Denot's
side, and putting his arm round his neck and embracing him. "We all know
how you have suffered. We know--we always knew, it wasn't your proper
self that turned against the cause you loved so well; but, Adolphe, we
won't talk of these things now."
"You just now said we must talk of them, and you were quite right. After
what has passed, you and I cannot meet without having much to say," and
again the madman jumped to his feet; and as he paced up and down the
room, his fiercer humour again came upon him. "Henri," he exclaimed; and
as he spoke he stood still, close to the other, "Henri, why don't you
avenge your sister's honour? Why don't you punish the dishonour which
I brought on your father's hoary head? Henri, I say, why don't you seize
by the throat the wretched traitor who brought desolation and
destruction into your family?" and he stretched out his long gaunt neck,
as though he expected that Larochejaquelin would rise from his bed, and
take him at his word.
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