“I have a greater now,” said Gaston de Trélan, looking far beyond him. “Are you human, Pierre, that you do not realise it?” Cadoudal’s despatch was almost crumpled to nothing in his clenched hand; he became aware of it. “Take this, before I—But, my God, that it should have come to-day!”
This time the priest accepted the letter, and retained the hand that gave it him as well. “Mon frère, consider!” he said pleadingly. “It only means the shortest of delays. You can hasten to Mirabel afterwards.”
“Yes,” said his brother with an indescribable intonation, “If you will guarantee that I shall still be alive—_afterwards_!” And he withdrew his hand.
There indeed lay the hazard, and they both knew it. Disabled, too, as he was, he might well be killed before that meeting could take place, for there would be fighting over this business of the convoy. And death, the long desired, had terrors for him now.
Nevertheless the little priest did not budge. Gaston would thank him for it, he knew, when his brain was clear of this tremendous shock.
“No, my first duty is to her,” went on the Duc de Trélan with all his old stubbornness. “I can never offer her sufficient reparation; at least what I can offer her shall be instant. And—she may be in danger there! I have plenty of competent officers; de Brencourt, du Ménars can handle the men as well as I for this affair. It will not amount to more than a skirmish at most—perhaps there will be no collision with the Republicans at all.”
“Then why,” said the Abbé very low, looking at the floor, “did you speak just now of the possibility of your falling yourself before you and she could meet?”
His shot went home. The tired eyes flashed like steel. “Pierre!” said the Duc de Trélan in a warning voice.
The priest raised his head. There were tears in his own eyes. “The men are untried, Gaston, most of them. They will follow _you_, but who really knows whether they will follow du Ménars? And the Comte de Brencourt—no one knows where he is. There may be no big engagement with the Republicans over this business, but it will be no easy task to cover the disembarkation and get the arms away from Sainte-Brigitte. You are a soldier; I do not need to tell you that. With these peasants it will need the most skilful leadership. And . . . to throw away, after all our prayers, the chance of arming Finistère! My brother, my brother . . .”