'But,' added he, 'you, Foret, and others will; and it delights me to think that I have given my life to so good a cause.'" Henri's horse was now ready, and he made no longer delay than to say adieu to his hostess, and to speak one or two last words to his cousin Marie, and then he made the best of his way to Chatillon and St.
Laurent, hoping once more to see Cathelineau before he died.

All his spurring and his hurrying was in vain.
A few hours before Henri could reach the hospital, the Saint of Anjou had breathed his last, and Agatha Larochejaquelin had soothed his dying moments.
As Foret had related, Agatha, on hearing of Cathelineau's wound, had turned deadly pale.

It was not love that made her feel that the world was darkened by his fall; that from henceforward nothing to her could be bright and cheerful; at least not such love as that which usually warms a woman's heart, for Agatha had never hoped, or even wished to be more to Cathelineau than an admiring friend; nor yet was it grief for the loss of services which she knew were invaluable to the cause she had so warmly espoused.

These two feelings were blended together in her breast.

She had taught herself to look to Cathelineau as the future saviour of her country; she loved his virtue, his patriotism, and his valour; and her heart was capable of no other love while that existed in it so strongly.