You do not----" he paused, the last barrier of reserve broken down, the tears standing openly in his eyes--"it is foolish perhaps--you do not yearn, Messer Blondel, to take all you love in your arms, and shelter them and cover them from the horrors that threaten us, the horrors that may fall on us--any night! You do not"-- he looked at Baudichon and the stout man's face grew pale, he averted his eyes--"you do not dream of these things, Messer Blondel, nor awake to fancy them, but we do.

We do!" he repeated in accents which went to the hearts of all, "day and night, rising and lying down, waking and sleeping.

And we--dare run no risks." In the silence which followed Blondel's fingers tapped restlessly on the table.

He cleared his throat and voice.
"But there, I tell you there are no risks," he said.

He was moved nevertheless.
Petitot bowed, humbly for him.