They were in the voice of a man who saw himself facing the final arbiter of things--a voice dead to visible hope, yet behind which there trembled a thing that made Philip face him with a new fire in his eyes.
"Why to-morrow or the next day ?" he demanded.

"Why shroud me in this damnable mystery any longer, Jean?
If there is fighting to be done, let me fight!" Jean's hollowed cheeks took on a flush.
"I would give my life if we two could go out and fight--as I want to fight," he said in a low, tense voice, "It would be worth your life and mine--that fight.

It would be glorious.

But I am a Catholic, M'sieur.

I am a Catholic of the wilderness.