THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 WHEN VALMOND 
 CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 THE STORY OF A LOST NAPOLEON 
 
 BY 
 
 GILBERT PARKER 
 "I 
 
 HARPER &^ BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON
 
 
 Books by 
 GILBERT PARKER 
 
 Northern Lights. Illustrated. . . Post 8vo $1.50 
 
 The Weavers. Illustrated Post 8vo 1.50 
 
 The Right of Way. Illustrated . . Post 8vo 1.50 
 
 A Ladder of Swords. Illustrated . PostSvo 1.50 
 
 Pierre and His People. 
 Mrs. Falchion. 
 The Trespasser. 
 The Translation of a 
 
 Savage. 
 The Trail of the Sword. 
 When Valmond Came to 
 
 PONTIAC. 
 
 An Adventurer of the 
 
 North. 
 The Seats of the 
 
 Mighty. 
 
 Embers (Private 
 
 The Pomp of the Lavi- 
 
 LKTTES. 
 
 The Battle of the 
 Strong. 
 
 The Lane that Had No 
 Turning. 
 
 Donovan Pasha. 
 
 Old Quebec (In collabora- 
 tion with C. G. Bryan). 
 
 Round the Compass in 
 Australia. 
 
 A Lover's Diary. 
 
 Publication only). 
 
 Copyright, 1895, by Stone and Rimball 
 Copyright, 1898, by The Macmillan Compahy
 
 TO 
 
 mrs. wilson marshall 
 
 valmond's 
 
 best friend 
 
 AND MY 
 COMRADE 
 
 IN HIS 
 FORTUNES
 
 ■' Oh, withered is the garland of the war; 
 The soldier's poll is broken ' "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME 
 TO PONTIAC
 
 when Valmond Came 
 To Pontiac 
 
 THE STORY OF A LOST NAPOLEON 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Oi 
 
 'N one corner stood the house of Monsieur 
 Garon the avocat ; on another, the shop of the Lit- 
 tle Chemist ; on another, the office of MedalHon 
 the auctioneer ; and on the last, the Hotel Louis 
 Quinze. The chief characteristics of Monsieur 
 Garon's house were its brass door-knobs, and the 
 verdant luxuriance of the vines that climbed its 
 sides ; of the Little Chemist's shop, the perfect 
 whiteness of the building, the rolls of sober wall- 
 paper, and the bottles of colored water in the 
 shop windows ; of Medallion's, the stoop that sur- 
 rounded three sides of the building, and the 
 notices of sales tacked up, pasted up, on the 
 front ; of the Hotel Louis Quinze, the deep dormer 
 windows, its solid timbers, and the veranda that 
 gave its front distinction — for this veranda had 
 been the pride of several generations of landlords,
 
 lO WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 and its heavy carving and bulky grace were worth 
 even more admiration than Pontiac gave to it. 
 
 The square which the two roads and the four 
 corners made was, on week-days, the rendezvous 
 of Pontiac, and the whole parish ; on Sunday 
 mornings the rendezvous was shifted to the large 
 church on the hillside, beside which was the house 
 of the Cur6, Monsieur Fabre. Travelling towards 
 the south out of the silken haze of a midsummer 
 day, you would come in time to the hills of Maine ; 
 north, to the city of Quebec and the River St. 
 Lawrence ; east, to the ocean ; and west, to the 
 Great Lakes and the land of the English. Over 
 this bright province Britain raised her flag, but 
 only Medallion and a few others loved it for its 
 own sake, or saluted it in the English tongue. 
 
 In the drab velvet dust of these four corners, 
 were gathered, one night of July a generation ago, 
 the children of the village and many of their 
 elders. All the events of that epoch were dated 
 from the evening of this day. Another day of 
 note the parish cherished, but it was merely a 
 grave fulfilment of the first. 
 
 Upon the veranda-stoop of the Louis Quinze 
 stood a man of apparently about twenty-eight 
 years of age. When you came to study him close- 
 ly, some sense of time and experience in his look 
 told you that he might be thirty-eight, though his 
 few gray hairs seemed but to emphasize a certain 
 youthfulness in him. His eye was full, singularly 
 clear, almost benign ; at one moment it gave the
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC II 
 
 impression of resolution, at another it suggested 
 the wayward abstraction of the dreamer. He was 
 well-figured, with a hand of peculiar whiteness, 
 suggesting in its breadth more the man of action 
 than of meditation. But it was a contradiction, 
 for as you saw it rise and fall, you were struck by 
 its dramatic delicacy ; as it rested on the railing 
 of the veranda, by its latent power. You faced 
 incongruity everywhere. His dress was bizarre, 
 his face almost classical, the brow clear and 
 strong, the profile good to the mouth, where there 
 showed a combination of sensuousness and adven- 
 ture. Yet in the face there was an elusive sad- 
 ness, strangely out of keeping with the long linen 
 coat, frilled shirt, the flowered waistcoat, lavender 
 trousers, boots of enamelled leather, and straw hat 
 with white linen streamers. It was a whimsical 
 picture. 
 
 At the moment that the Cure and Medallion 
 the auctioneer came down the street together 
 towards the Louis Quinze, talking amiably, this 
 singular gentleman was throwing out hot pennies, 
 with a large spoon, from a tray in his hand, call- 
 ing on the children to gather them, in French 
 which was not the French of Pontiac — or Quebec ; 
 and this fact the Cur6 was quick to detect, as 
 Monsieur Garon the avocat, standing on the out- 
 skirts of the crowd, had done some moments 
 before. The stranger seemed only conscious of 
 his act of liberality and the children before him. 
 There was a naturalness in his enjoyment which
 
 12 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 was almost boy-like ; a naive sort of exultation 
 seemed to possess him. 
 
 He laughed softly to see the children toss the 
 pennies from hand to hand, blowing to cool them ; 
 the riotous yet half-timorous scramble for them, 
 and burnt fingers thrust into hot blithe mouths. 
 And when he saw a fat little lad of five crowded 
 out of the way by his elders, he stepped down 
 with a quick word of sympathy, put a half dozen 
 pennies in the child's pocket, snatched him up and 
 kissed him, and then returned to the veranda.where 
 were gathered the landlord, the miller, and Mon- 
 sieur De la Riviere the young Seigneur. But the 
 most intent spectator of the scene was Parpon 
 the dwarf, who sat grotesquely crouched upon the 
 wide ledge of a window. 
 
 Tray after tray of pennies was brought out and 
 emptied, till at last the stranger paused, handed 
 the spoon to the landlord, drew out a fine white 
 handkerchief, dusted his fingers, standing silent 
 for a moment, and smiling upon the crowd. 
 
 It was at this point that some young villager 
 called, in profuse compliment, " Three cheers for 
 the Prince ! " 
 
 The stranger threw an accent of pose into his 
 manner, his eye lighted, his chin came up, he 
 dropped one hand negligently on his hip, and 
 waved the other in acknowledgment. Presently 
 he beckoned, and from the hotel were brought 
 out four great pitchers of wine and a dozen tin 
 cups, and sending the gar^on around with one,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 3 
 
 the landlord with another, he motioned Parpon 
 the dwarf to bear a hand. Parpon shot out a 
 quick, half-resentful look at him, but meeting a 
 warm, friendly eye, he took the pitcher and went 
 among the elders, while the stranger himself 
 courteously drank with the young men of the 
 village, who, like many wiser folk, thus yielded to 
 the charm of mystery. To every one he said a 
 hearty thing, and sometimes touched his greeting 
 off with a bit of poetry or a rhetorical phrase. 
 These dramatic extravagances served him well, 
 for he was among a race of story-tellers and 
 crude poets. 
 
 Parpon, uncouth and furtive, moved through 
 the crowd, dispensing as much irony as wine : 
 
 " Three bucks we come to a pretty inn, 
 
 * Hostess,' say we, ' have you red wine ?' 
 
 Brave ! Brave ! 
 
 • Hostess,' say we, ' have you red wine ?' 
 
 Bravement ! 
 Our feet are sore and our crops are drj', 
 Bravemetit ! " 
 
 This he hummed to Monsieur Garon the avo- 
 cat, in a tone all silver, for he had that one gift 
 of Heaven as recompense for his deformity, — his 
 long arms, big head, and short stature, — a voice 
 which gave you a shiver of delight and pain all 
 at once. It had in it mystery and the incompre- 
 hensible. This drinking song, lilted just above 
 his breath, touched some antique memory in the
 
 14 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 avocat, and he nodded kindly at the dwarf, though 
 he refused the wine. 
 
 " Ah, M'sieu' le Cur^," said Parpon, ducking 
 his head to avoid the hand that Medallion would 
 have laid on it, " we're going to be somebody 
 now in Pontiac, bless the Lord ! We're simple 
 folk, but we're not neglected. He wears a king's 
 ribbon on his breast, M'sieu' le Curd ! " 
 
 This was true. Fastened by a gold bar to the 
 stranger's breast was the crimson ribbon of an 
 order. 
 
 The Curd smiled at Parpon's words, and looked 
 curiously and gravely at the stranger. Tall Me- 
 dallion, the auctioneer, took a glass of the wine, 
 and lifting it, said : "Who shall I drink to, Par- 
 pon, my dear ? What is he ? " 
 
 " Ten to one, a dauphin or a fool," answered 
 Parpon with a laugh like the note of an organ. 
 "Drink to both, long legs." Then he trotted 
 away to the Little Chemist. 
 
 "Hush, my brother," said he, and he drew the 
 other's ear down to his mouth. "Now there'll 
 be plenty of work for you. We're going to be gay 
 in Pontiac. We'll come to you with our spoiled 
 stomachs." 
 
 He edged round the circle, and back to where the 
 miller his master, and the young Seigneur stood. 
 
 " Make more fine flour, old man," said he to 
 the miller ; " patds are the thing now." Then, to 
 Monsieur De la Riviere: "There's nothing like 
 hot pennies and wine to make the world love you.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 5 
 
 But it's too late, too late for my young Seigneur ! " 
 he added in mockery, and again he began to hum 
 in a sort of amiable derision: 
 
 " My little tender heart, 
 
 gai, vive le roi ! 
 My little tender heart, 
 
 O gai, vive le roi ! 
 'Tis for a grand baron, 
 
 Vive le roi, la reine; 
 'Tis for a grand baron, 
 
 Vive NapoUon I " 
 
 With the last two lines the words swelled out far 
 louder than was the dwarf's intention, for few save 
 Medallion and Monsieur De la Riviere had ever 
 heard him sing. His concert house was the Rock 
 of Red Pigeons, his favorite haunt, his other home, 
 where, it was said, he met the Little Good Folk 
 of the Scarlet Hills, and had gay hours with them. 
 And this was a matter of awe to the timid Aadi- 
 tants. 
 
 At the words " Vive Napoleon ! " a hand touched 
 him on the shoulder. He turned and saw the 
 stranger looking at him intently, his eyes alight. 
 
 " Sing it," he said softly, yet with an air of com- 
 mand. Parpon hesitated, shrank back. 
 
 "Sing it," he persisted, and the request was 
 taken up by others, till Parpon's face flushed with 
 a sort of pleasurable defiance. The stranger 
 stooped and whispered something in his ear. 
 There was a moment's pause, in which the dwarf
 
 1 6 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 looked into the other's eyes with an intense 
 curiosity, or increduHty — and then Medallion 
 lifted the little man onto the railing of the veranda, 
 and over the heads and into the hearts of the 
 people there passed, in a divine voice, a song 
 known to many, yet coming as a new revelation 
 to them all. 
 
 " My mother promised it, 
 
 gat, vive le roi ! 
 My mother promised it, 
 
 gai, vive le roi ! 
 To a gentleman of the king, 
 
 Vive le roi, la reine ; 
 To a gentleman of the king, 
 
 Vive Napoleon ! " 
 
 This was chanted lightly, airily, with a sweet- 
 ness almost absurd, coming as it did from so 
 uncouth a musician. The last verses had a touch 
 of pathos, droll yet searching : 
 
 " Oh, say, where goes your love, 
 
 gai, vi7)e le roi? 
 Oh, say, where goes your love, 
 
 O gai, vive le roi ? 
 He rides on a white horse, 
 
 Vive le roi, la reine ; 
 He wears a silver sword, 
 
 Vive N^apoleon I 
 
 " Oh, grand to the war he goes, 
 gai, vive le roi ! 
 Oh, grand to the war he goes, 
 O gai, vive le roi t
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 7 
 
 Gold and silver he will bring, 
 
 Vive le roi, la reine ; 
 And eke the daughter of a king — 
 
 Vive NapoUon ! " 
 
 The crowd, women and men, youths and maid- 
 ens, enthusiastically repeated again and again the 
 last lines and the refrain, " Vwe le roi, la reine ! 
 Vive Napoleon ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the stranger stood, now looking at 
 the singer with eager eyes, now searching the 
 faces of the people, keen to see the effect upon 
 them. His glance found the Cure, the avocat, and 
 the auctioneer, and his eyes steadied successively 
 to Medallion's humorous look, to the Curb's puzzled 
 questioning, to the avocat's birdlike curiosity. It 
 was plain they were not antagonistic (why should 
 they be ?) ; and he — was there any reason why he 
 should care whether or no they were for him or 
 against him ? 
 
 True, he had entered the village in the dead of 
 night, with much luggage and many packages, 
 had roused the people at the Louis Ouinze, the 
 driver who had brought him departing gayly, be- 
 fore daybreak, because of the gifts of gold given 
 him above his wage. True, this singular gentle- 
 man had taken three rooms in the little hotel, 
 had paid the landlord in advance, and had then 
 gone to bed, leaving word that he was not to be 
 waked till three o'clock the next afternoon. True, 
 the landlord could not by any hint or indirection 
 discover from whence this midnight visitor came. 
 2
 
 1 8 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 But if a gentleman paid his way, and was gener- 
 ous and polite, and minded his own business, 
 wherefore should people busy themselves about 
 him ? When he appeared on the veranda of 
 the inn with the hot pennies, not a half dozen 
 people in the village had known aught of his pres- 
 ence in Pontiac. The children came first to 
 scorch their fingers and fill their pockets, and 
 after them the idle young men, and the habitants 
 in general. 
 
 The song done, the stranger, having shaken 
 Parpon by the hand, and again whispered in his 
 ear, stepped forward. The last light of the set- 
 ting sun was reflected from the red roof of the 
 Little Chemist's shop, upon the quaint figure and 
 eloquent face, which had in it something of the 
 gentleman, something of the comedian. The alert 
 Medallion himself did not realize the comedian in 
 it, till the white hand was waved grandiloquently 
 over the heads of the crowd. Then something in 
 the gesture corresponded with something in the 
 face, and the auctioneer had a nut which he could 
 not crack for many a day. The voice was mu- 
 sical, — as fine in speaking almost as the dwarf's 
 in singing, — and the attention of the children was 
 caught by the warm, vibrating tones. He ad- 
 dressed himself to them. 
 
 "My children," he said, "my name is — Val- 
 mond ! We have begun well ; let us be better 
 friends. I have come from far off to be one of 
 you, to stay with you for awhile — who knows how
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I9 
 
 long — how long ? " He placed a finger medita- 
 tively on his lips, sending a sort of mystery into 
 his look and bearing. " You are French, and so 
 am I. You are playing on the shores of life, and 
 so am I. You are beginning to think and dream, 
 and so am I. We are only children till we begin 
 to make our dreams our life. So I am one with 
 you, for only now do I step from dream to action. 
 My children, you shall be my brothers, and to- 
 gether we will sow the seed of action and reap 
 the grain ; we will make a happy garden of flowers, 
 and violets shall bloom everywhere out of our 
 dream, — everywhere. Violets, my children, pluck 
 the wild violets, and bring them to me, and I will 
 give you silver for them, and I will love you. 
 Never forget," he added with a swelling voice, 
 " that you owe your first duty to your mothers, 
 and afterward to your country, and to the spirit 
 of France. I see afar " — he looked toward the set- 
 ting sun, and stretched out his arm dramatically, 
 yet such was the impressiveness of his voice and 
 person that not even the young Seigneur or Medal- 
 lion smiled, — " I see afar," he repeated, " the glory 
 of our dreams fulfilled, after toil, and struggle, and 
 loss ; and I call upon you now to unfurl the white 
 banner of justice, and liberty, and the restoration ! " 
 The good women who listened guessed little of 
 what he meant by the fantastic sermon ; but they 
 wiped their eyes in sympathy, and gathered their 
 children to them, and said, " Poor gentleman, 
 poor gentleman ! " and took him instantly to their
 
 20 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 hearts. The men were mystified, but wine and 
 rhetoric had fired them, and they cheered him 
 — no one knew why. The Cur6, as he turned to 
 leave, with Monsieur Garon, shook his head in 
 bewilderment ; but even he did not smile, for the 
 man's eloquence had impressed him. And more 
 than once he looked back at the dispersing crowd 
 and the picturesque figure posing on the veranda. 
 The avocat was thinking deeply, and as in the 
 dusk he left the Cur6 at his own door, all that he 
 ventured was: "Singular, a most singular person! " 
 
 "We shall see, we shall see," said the Cur6, ab- 
 stractedly, and they said good-night. Medallion 
 joined the Little Chemist in his shop door, and 
 watched the habitants scatter, till only Parpon 
 and the stranger were left. Presently these two 
 faced each other, and, without a word, passed into 
 the hotel together. 
 
 " H'm, h'm," said Medallion into space, drum- 
 ming the door-jamb with his fingers, " which is it, 
 my Parpon — a dauphin, or a fool 1 " 
 
 He and the Little Chemist talked long, their 
 eyes upon the window opposite, inside which Mon- 
 sieur Valmond and the dwarf were talking. Up 
 the dusty street wandered fitfully the refrain : 
 
 " To a gentleman of the king, 
 Five Napoleon ! " 
 
 And once they dimly saw Monsieur Valmond 
 come to the open window and stretch out his hand, 
 as if in greeting to the song and the singer.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 X HIS all happened on a Tuesday, and on 
 Wednesday, and for several days, Valmond went 
 about making friends. It was easy to do this, for his 
 pockets were always full of pennies and silverpieces, 
 and he gave them liberally to the children and to 
 the poor, though, indeed, there were few suffering 
 poor in Pontiac. All had food enough to keep 
 them from misery, though often it got no further 
 than sour milk and bread, with a dash of sugar in it 
 of Sundays. As for homes, every man and woman 
 had a house of a kind, with its low projecting roof 
 and dormer windows, according to the ability and 
 prosperity of the owner. These houses were white- 
 washed or painted white, and had double glass in 
 winter, according to the same measure. There 
 was no question of warmth, for in snowtime every 
 house was banked up with earth above the founda- 
 tions, the cracks and intersections of windows and 
 doors were filled with cloth from the village looms, 
 and wood was for the chopping far and near. 
 Within these air-tight cubes the simple folk baked, 
 and were happy, content if now and then the house- 
 wife opened the one pane of glass which hung on 
 a hinge, or the slit in the sash, to let in the cold 
 air. The occasional opening of the outer door to
 
 22 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 admit some one, as a rule, sufficed, for out rushed 
 the hot blast, and in came the dry frosty air to 
 brace to their tasks the story-teller and singer. 
 
 In summer the little fields were broken with 
 wooden ploughs, and there was the limb of a tree 
 for harrow, the sickle and scythe and flail to do 
 their office in due course ; and if the man were 
 well-to-do, he swung the cradle in his rye and 
 wheat, rejoicing in the sweep of the knife and the 
 fulness of the swathe. Then, too, there was the 
 driving of the rivers, when the young men ran 
 the logs from the backwoods to the great mills 
 near and far : red-shirted, sashed, knee-booted, 
 with rings in their ears and wide hats on their 
 heads, and a song in their mouths, breaking a jam, 
 or steering a crib or raft down the rapids. And 
 the voyageur also, who brought furs out of the 
 North down the great lakes, came home again to 
 Pontiac, singing in his patois : 
 
 ' ' Nous avons passi le bois. 
 Nous so?nnt's a la rive ! " 
 
 Or, as he went forth : 
 
 " I,e dieu du jour savance ; 
 Amis, les vents sont doux j 
 Berch par I'esperance, 
 
 Partons, embarqtcons-nous 
 A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a ! " 
 
 And, as we know, it was summer when Val- 
 mond came to Pontiac. The river-drivers were
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 23 
 
 just beginning to return, and by and by the flax 
 swingeing would commence in the little secluded 
 valley by the river, and one would see the bright 
 sickle flashing across the gold and green area, and 
 all the pleasant furniture of summer set fo'/th in 
 pride by the Mother of the House whom we call 
 Nature. 
 
 Valmond was alive to it all, almost too alive, 
 for at first the flamboyancy of his spirit touched 
 him off with melodrama. Yet, on the whole, he 
 seemed more natural than involved or obscure. 
 His love for children was real, his politeness to 
 women spontaneous. He was seen to carry the 
 load of old Madame D^gardy up the hill, and 
 place it at her own door. He also had offered 
 her a pinch of snuff, which she acknowledged by 
 gravely offering a pinch of her own, from a dirty 
 twist of brown paper. 
 
 One day he sprang over a fence, took from the 
 hands of coquettish Elise Malboir an axe, and 
 split the knot which she in vain had tried to break. 
 Not satisfied with this, he piled full of wood the 
 stone oven outside the house, and carried water 
 for her from the spring. This came from natural 
 kindness, for he did not see the tempting look she 
 gave him, nor the invitation in her eye, as he 
 turned to leave her. He merely asked her name. 
 But after he had gone, as though he had for- 
 gotten, or remembered, something, he leaped the 
 fence again, came up to her with an air of half- 
 abstraction, half-courtesy, took both her hands in
 
 24 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 his, and before she could recover herself, kissed 
 her on the cheeks in a paternal sort of way, say- 
 ing, " Adieu, my child ! " and left her. 
 
 The act had condescension in it ; yet, too, some- 
 thing unconsciously simple and primitive. Parpon 
 the dwarf, who that moment perched himself on 
 the fence, could not decide which Valmond was 
 just then — dauphin, or fool. 
 
 Valmond did not see the little man, but swung 
 away down the dusty road, reciting to himself 
 couplets from Le Vieux Drapeau. 
 
 " Oh, come my flag, come hope of mine, 
 And thou shalt dry these fruitless tears ; " 
 
 and apparently without any connection, he passed 
 complacently to an entirely different song : 
 
 " She loved to laugh, she loved to drink, 
 I bought her jewels fine." 
 
 Then he added with a suddenness which seemed 
 to astound himself — for afterwards he looked round 
 quickly, as if to see if he had been heard — " filise 
 Malboir — h'm ! a pretty name, Elise ; but Mal- 
 boir — tush ! it should be Malbarre ; the differ- 
 ence between Lombardy cider and wine of the 
 Empire." 
 
 Parpon, left behind, sat on the fence with his 
 legs drawn up to his chin, looking at filise, till 
 she turned and caught the provoking light of his 
 eye. She flushed, then was cool again, for she
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 2$ 
 
 was put upon her mettle by the suggestion of his 
 glance. 
 
 " Come, lazy-bones," she said, " come fetch me 
 currants from the garden." 
 
 "Come, mocking-bird," answered he, "come 
 peck me on the cheek." 
 
 She tossed her head, and struck straight home. 
 " It isn't a game of pass it on from gentleman to 
 beetle." 
 
 " You think he's a gentleman ? " he asked. 
 
 " As sure as I think you're a beetle." 
 
 He laughed, took off his cap, and patted himself 
 on the head. " Parpon, Parpon ! " said he, "if 
 Jean Malboir could see you now, he'd put his foot 
 on you and crush you — dirty beetle ! " 
 
 At the mention of her father's name a change 
 passed over filise, for this same Parpon, when all 
 men else were afraid, had saved Jean Malboir's 
 life at a log chute in the hills. When he died, 
 Parpon was nearer to him than the priest, and he 
 loved to hear the dwarf chant his wild rhythms of 
 the Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills, more 
 than to listen to holy prayers. Elise, who had a 
 warm, impulsive nature, in keeping with her black 
 eyes and tossing hair, who was all fire, and sun, 
 and heart, and temper, ran over and caught the 
 dwarf round the neck, and kissed him on the 
 cheek, dashing the tears out of her eyes, as she 
 cried : 
 
 " I'm a cat, I'm a bad-tempered thing, Parpon ; 
 I hate myself."
 
 26 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 He laughed, shook his shaggy head, and pushed 
 her away the length of his long, strong arms. 
 " Bosh ! " said he, " you're a puss and no cat, and 
 I like you better for the claws. If you hate 
 yourself, you'll get a big penance. Hate the ugly 
 like Parpon, not the pretty like you. The one's 
 no sin, the other is." 
 
 " Who is he, Parpon ? " she asked in a low voice, 
 not looking at him. 
 
 She was beside the open door of the oven ; and 
 it would be hard to tell whether her face was suffer- 
 ing from heat or from blushes. However that 
 might chance, her mouth was soft and sweet, and 
 her eyes were still wet. 
 
 " Is he like Duclosse the mealman, or Jos6 
 Lajeunesse, or Garotte the limeburner, — and the 
 rest ? " he asked. 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 " Is he like the Cure, or Monsieur De la Riviere, 
 or Monsieur Garon, or Monsieur Medallion ? " 
 
 " He's different," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 " Better or worse ? " 
 
 " More — more " — she didn't know what to say 
 — " more interesting." 
 
 " Is he like the Judge Honorable that come 
 from Montreal, or the grand Governor, or the 
 General that travel with the Governor ? " 
 
 " Yes, but different — more — more like us in 
 some things, like them in others, and more — 
 splendid. He speaks such fine things ! You mind 
 the other night at the Louis Quinze. He is like — "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 27 
 
 She paused. " What is he like ? " Parpon asked 
 slyly, enjoying her difficulty. 
 
 " Ah, I know," she answered ; " he is a little 
 like Madame the American, who came two years 
 ago. There is something — something ! " 
 
 Parpon laughed again. " Like Madame Chalice 
 from New York — fudge ! " Yet he eyed her as if 
 he admired her penetration. " How ? " he urged. 
 
 "I don't know — quite," she answered a little 
 pettishly. " But I used to see Madame go off in 
 the woods, and she would sit hour by hour, and 
 listen to the waterfall, and talk to the birds, and 
 at herself too; and more than once I saw her shut 
 her hands — like that ! You remember what tiny 
 hands she had ? " (She glanced at her own brown 
 ones unconsciously.) " And she spoke out, her 
 eyes running with tears — and she all in pretty 
 silks, and a color like a rose. She spoke out like 
 this : ' Oh, if I could only do something, something, 
 some big thing ! What is all this silly coming and 
 going to me, when I know, I know I might do it, 
 if I had the chance ! O Harry, Harry, can't you 
 understand, and help me ? ' " 
 
 " Harry was her husband. Ah, what a fisher- 
 man was he ! " said Parpon, nodding. " What did 
 she mean by doing ' big things ' ? " 
 
 " How do I know ? " asked the girl, fretfully. 
 "But Monsieur Valmond seems to me like her, 
 just the same." 
 
 " Monsieur Valmond is a great man," said Par- 
 pon, slowly.
 
 28 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " You know," she cried eagerly ; " you know ! 
 Oh, tell me, what is he ? Who is he ? Where 
 does he come from ? Why is he here ? How long 
 will he stay ? Tell me, how long will he stay ? " 
 She caught flutteringly at Parpon's shoulder. 
 
 "You remember what I sang the other night ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes, yes," she answered quickly. " Oh, how 
 beautiful it was ! Ah, Parpon, why don't you 
 sing for us oftener, and all the world would love 
 you, and " 
 
 "I don't love the world," he retorted gruffly, 
 "and I'll sing for the devil " (she crossed herself) 
 "as soon as for silly gossips in Pontiac." 
 
 "Well, well, what had your song to do with 
 him, with Monsieur Valmond ? " 
 
 "Think hard, my dear," he said, with mystery 
 in his look. " Madame Chalice is coming back 
 to-day ; the Manor House is open, and you should 
 see how they fly round up there." He nodded 
 toward the hill beyond. 
 
 " Pontiac '11 be a fine place by and by," she re- 
 plied, for she had village patriotism deep in her 
 veins. Had not her people lived there long before 
 the conquest by the English ? 
 
 " But tell me, tell me what your song had to do 
 with Monsieur," she urged again. "It's a pretty 
 
 song, but " 
 
 "Think about it," he answered provokingly. 
 " Adieu, my child," he went on, mockingly, using 
 Valmond's words, and catching both her hands
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 29 
 
 as he had done ; then springing upon a bench 
 by the oven, he kissed her on both cheeks. 
 "Adieu, my child," he said again, and jumping 
 down, trotted out into the road. Back to her, 
 from the dust he made as he shuffled away, there 
 came the words : 
 
 " Gold and silver he will bring, 
 Vive le roi, la reine ! 
 And eke the daughter of a king — 
 Vive Napoleon ! " 
 
 She went about her work, the song in her ears, 
 and the words of the refrain beat in and out, 
 out and in — " Vive Napoleon /" Her brow was 
 troubled, and she perched her head on this side 
 and on that, as she tried to guess what the dwarf 
 had meant. At last she sat down on a bench at 
 the door of her home, and the summer afternoon 
 spent its glories on her, for the sunflowers and the 
 hollyhocks were round her, and the warmth gave 
 her face a shining health and joyousness. There 
 she brooded till she heard the voice of her mother 
 calling across the meadow near, and she arose 
 with a sigh, softly repeating Parpon's words, 
 " He is a great man." 
 
 In the middle of the night she started up from 
 a sound sleep, and, with a little cry, whispered 
 into the silence, " Napoleon — Napoleon ! " 
 
 She was thinking of Valmond. A revelation 
 had come to her out of her dreams. But she 
 laughed at it, and buried her face in her pillow 
 and went to sleep, hoping to dream again.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 I 
 
 N less than one week Valmond was as out- 
 standing from Pontiac as Dalgrothe Mountain, 
 just beyond it in the south. His liberality, his 
 jocundity, his occasional abstraction, his medita- 
 tive pose, were all his own ; his humor that of the 
 people. He was too quick in repartee and drollery 
 for a bourgeois, too " near to the bone " in point, for 
 an aristocrat, with his dual touch of the comedian 
 and the peasant. Besides, he was mysterious and 
 picturesque, and this is alluring to women and to 
 the humble, if not to all the world. It rr.ight be 
 his was the comedian's fascination, but the flashes 
 of grotesqueness rather pleased the eye, than hurt 
 the taste of Pontiac. 
 
 Only in one quarter was there hesitation, added 
 to an anxiety almost painful ; for to doubt or dis- 
 trust Monsieur Valmond would have shocked the 
 sense of courtesy so dear to Monsieur the Cur6, 
 Monsieur Garon, the Little Chemist, and even 
 Medallion the auctioneer, who had assimilated 
 something of the spirit of those old-fashioned 
 gentlemen into his bluff, odd nature. Monsieur 
 De la Riviere, the young Seigneur, had to be 
 reckoned with independently. 
 
 It was their custom to meet once a week at the
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 3I 
 
 house of one or another for a causerie, as the avo- 
 cat called it. On the Friday evening of this par- 
 ticular week, all were seated in the front garden 
 of the Curb's house, as Valmond came over the 
 hill, going toward the Louis Quinze. His step 
 was light, his head laid slightly to one side, as if 
 in pleased and inquiring revery, and, strangely 
 enough, there was a lifting of one corner of the 
 mouth, suggesting a gay disdain. Was it that 
 disdain which comes from conquest not important 
 enough to satisfy ambition ? The social subjuga- 
 tion of a village — to be conspicuous and attract 
 the groundlings in this tiny theatre of life ! 
 
 He appeared not to see the little coterie, but 
 presently turned, when just opposite the gate, 
 and, raising his hat, half paused. Then without 
 more ado he opened it, and advanced to the 
 outstretched hand of the Cur6, who greeted him 
 with a courtly affability. He shook hands with, 
 and nodded good-humoredly at Medallion and 
 the Little Chemist, bowed to the avocat, and 
 touched off his greeting to Monsieur De la Rivi- 
 ere with deliberation, not offering his hand — this 
 very reserve a sign of equality not lost on the 
 young Seigneur. He had not this stranger at any 
 particular advantage, as he had wished, he knew 
 scarcely why. Valmond took the seat offered 
 him beside the Cur^, who remarked presently : 
 
 " My dear friend Monsieur Garon was saying 
 just now that the spirit of France has ever been 
 the captain of Freedom among the nations."
 
 32 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Valmond glanced quickly from the Cur6 to the 
 others, a swift, inquisitive look, then settled back 
 in his chair, and turned, bowing, towards Mon- 
 sieur Garon. The avocat's pale face flushed, his 
 long, thin fingers twined round each other and 
 untwined, and he spoke in a little chirping voice, 
 so quaint as to be almost unreal : 
 
 "I was saying that the spirit of France lived 
 always ahead of the time, was ever first to con- 
 ceive the feeling of the coming century, and by 
 its own struggles and sufferings — sometimes too 
 abrupt and perilous — made easy the way for the 
 rest of the world." 
 
 During these words a change passed over Val- 
 mond. His restless body became still, his mobile 
 face steady and almost set ; all the life of him 
 seemed to have burnt into liis eyes ; but he an- 
 swered nothing, and the Cure in the pause was 
 constrained to say : 
 
 "Our dear Monsieur Garon knows perfectly the 
 history of France, and is devoted to the study of 
 the Napoleonic times and of the Great Revolu- 
 tion — alas for our people and the saints of Holy 
 Church who perished then ! " 
 
 The avocat lifted a hand in mute disacknowledg- 
 ment. Again there was a silence, and out of the 
 pause Monsieur De la Riviere's voice was heard : 
 
 " Monsieur Valmond, how fares this spirit of 
 France now ? — you come from France, eh ? " 
 
 There was a shadow of condescension and 
 ulterior meaning in De la Riviere's voice, for he
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 33 
 
 had caught the tricks of the poseur in their singu- 
 lar guest. 
 
 Valmond did not stir, but looked steadily at 
 De la Riviere, and said slowly, dramatically, yet 
 with a strange genuineness also : 
 
 " The spirit of France, monsieur, the spirit of 
 France, looks not forward only, but backward, for 
 her inspiration. It is as ready for action now as 
 when the old order was dragged from Versailles 
 to Paris, and in Paris to the guillotine ; when 
 France got a principle and waited, waited " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, but threw back 
 his head with a sort of reflective laugh. 
 
 " Waited for what ? " asked the young Seigneur, 
 trying to conquer his dislike. 
 
 "For the Man," came the quick reply. 
 
 The avocat rubbed his hands in pleasure. He 
 instantly divined one who knew his subject, 
 though he talked thus melodramatically : a thing 
 not uncommon among the habitants and the pro- 
 fessional story-tellers, but scarcely the way of the 
 coterie. 
 
 "Ah,, yes, yes," he said, "for — .? monsieur, 
 for — ?" He paused, as if to give himself the 
 delight of hearing their visitor speak. 
 
 " For Napoleon," was the abrupt reply. 
 
 " Ah, yes, dear Lord, yes — a Napoleon — of— of 
 the First Empire. France can only cherish an 
 idea when a man is behind it, when a man lives 
 it, embodies it. She must have heroes. She is a 
 poet, a poet — and an actress." 
 3
 
 34 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 "So said the Man, Napoleon." cried Valmond, 
 getting to his feet. " He said that to Barras, to 
 R^musat, to Josephine, to Lucien, to — to another, 
 when France had for the moment lost both her 
 idea and her man." 
 
 The avocat trembled to his feet to meet Val- 
 mond, who stood up as he spoke, his face shining 
 with enthusiasm, a hand raised in broad dramatic 
 gesture, a dignity come upon him, in marked con- 
 trast to the inconsequent figure which had dis- 
 ported itself through the village during the past 
 week. The avocat had found a man after his own 
 heart. He knew that Valmond understood whereof 
 he spoke. It was as if an artist saw a young gen- 
 ius use a brush on canvas for a moment ; a swords- 
 man watch an unknown master of the sword. It 
 was not so much the immediate act, as the divina- 
 tion, the rapport, the spirit behind the act, which 
 could only come from the soul of the real thing. 
 
 " I thank you, monsieur ; I thank you with all 
 my heart," the avocat said. " It is the true word 
 you have spoken." 
 
 Here a lad came running to fetch the Little 
 Chemist, and Medallion and he departed, but not 
 without the auctioneer having pressed Valmond's 
 hand warmly, for he was quick of emotion, and, 
 like the avocat, he recognized, as he thought, the 
 true word behind the dramatic trappings. 
 
 Monsieur Garon and Valmond talked on, eager, 
 responsive, Valmond lost in the discussion of 
 Napoleon ; Garon in the man before him. By
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 35 
 
 many pregnant allusions, by a map drawn hastily 
 on the ground here, and an explosion of secret 
 history there, did Valmond win to a sort of wor- 
 ship this fine little Napoleonic scholar, who had 
 devoured every book on his hero which had come 
 in his way since boyhood. Student as he was, he 
 had met a man whose knowledge of the Napo- 
 leonic life was vastly more intricate, searching, 
 and vital than his own. He, Monsieur Garon, 
 spoke as from a book or out of a library, but this 
 man as from the Invalides, or, since that is anach- 
 ronistic, from the lonely rock of St. Helena. A 
 private saying of Napoleon's, a word from his let- 
 ters and biography, a phrase out of his speeches 
 to his soldiers, sent tears to the avocat's eyes, and 
 for a moment transformed Valmond. 
 
 While they talked, the Cur6 and the young 
 Seigneur listened, and there passed into their 
 minds the same wonder that had perplexed filise 
 Malboir ; so that they were troubled, as was she, 
 each after his own manner and temperament. 
 Their reasoning, their feelings, were different, but 
 they were coming to the point the girl had reached 
 when she cried into the darkness of the night, 
 "Napoleon ! Napoleon ! " 
 
 They sat forgetful of the passing of time, the 
 Cur6 preening with pleasure because of Valmond's 
 remarks upon the Church, when quoting the First 
 Napoleon's praise of religion. 
 
 Suddenly a carriage came dashing up the hill 
 with four horses and a postilion. The avocat was
 
 36 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 in the house searching for a book, but De la Rivi- 
 ere, seeing the carriage, got to his feet with in- 
 stant excitement, and the others turned to look. 
 As it neared the house, the Cur6 took off his beretta 
 and smiled complacently, a little red spot burning 
 on both cheeks. These deepened as the carriage 
 stopped, and a lady, a little lady like a golden 
 flower, with sunny eyes and face — how did she 
 keep so fresh in their dusty roads ? — stood up im- 
 pulsively, and before any one could reach the gate 
 to assist her entered, her blue eyes swimming 
 with the warmth of a kind heart — or a warm tem- 
 perament, which may exist without a kind heart. 
 
 Was it the heart or the temperament, or both, 
 that sent her forward with hands outstretched, 
 saying : 
 
 " Ah, my dear, dear Cur6, how glad I am to see 
 you once again ! It has been two years too long, 
 dear Cur^." 
 
 She held his hand in both of hers, and looked 
 up into his eyes with a smile at once childlike and 
 naive — and masterful ; for behind the simplicity 
 and the girlish manner there was a power, a 
 mind, with which this sweet golden hair and 
 cheeks like a rose garden had nothing to do. 
 The Cur^, beaming, touched by her warmth, and 
 by her tiny caressing fingers, stooped and kissed 
 them like an old courtier. He had come of a 
 good family in France long ago, — very long ago, 
 — and even in this French-Canadian village where 
 he had taught, and served, and lingered forty
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC y] 
 
 years, he had kept some graces of his youth, and 
 this beautiful woman drew them out. Since he 
 came to Pontiac he had never kissed a woman's 
 hand — women had kissed his ; and this woman 
 was a Protestant, like Medallion ! 
 
 Turning from the Cure, she held out a hand to 
 the young Seigneur with a little casual air, as if 
 she had but seen him yesterday, and said : " Mon- 
 sieur De la Riviere — what, still buried ? — and the 
 world waiting for the great touch ! But we in 
 Pontiac gain what the world loses." 
 
 She turned to the Cur^ again, placing a hand 
 upon his arm : 
 
 " I could not pass without stepping in upon my 
 dear old friend, even though soiled and unpre- 
 sentable. But you forgive that, don't you ? " 
 
 " Madame is always welcome, and always — 
 unspotted of the dusty world," he answered gal- 
 lantly. 
 
 She caught his fingers in hers as might a child, 
 turned full upon Valmond, and waited. The Cure 
 instantly presented him to her. She looked at 
 him brightly, alluringly, apparently so simply ; 
 yet her first act showed the perception behind that 
 rosy and golden face, and the demure eyes whose 
 lids languished now and then — to the unknowing 
 with an air of coquetry, to the knowing (did any 
 know her?) as one would shade one's eyes to see 
 a landscape clearly, or make out a distant figure. 
 As Valmond bowed, a thought seemed to fetch 
 down the pink eyelids, and she stretched out her
 
 38 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 hand, which he took and kissed, while she said 
 in English, though they had been talking in 
 French : 
 
 " A traveller too, like myself. Monsieur Val- 
 mond ? But Pontiac — why Pontiac ? " 
 
 Furtive inquiry shot from the eyes of the young 
 Seigneur, a puzzled glance from the Cure's, as 
 they watched Valmond ; for they did not know that 
 he had knowledge of English ; he had not spoken 
 it to Medallion, who always sent into his talk sev- 
 eral English words. 
 
 How did this woman divine it ? 
 
 A strange look flashed into Valmond's face, but 
 it was gone on the instant, and he replied quickly : 
 
 "Yes, madame, a traveller ; and for Pontiac, 
 there is as much earth and sky about it as about 
 Paris, or London, or New York." 
 
 " But people count. Monsieur — Valmond." 
 
 She hesitated before the name as if trying to re- 
 member it, though she recalled it perfectly; it was 
 her tiny fashion to pique, appear unknowing. 
 
 " Truly, Madame Chalice," he answered instant- 
 ly, for he did not yield to a like temptation ; " but 
 the few are as important to us as the many some- 
 times — eh ? " 
 
 She almost started at the eh, for it broke in 
 grimly upon the gentlemanly flavor of his speech. 
 
 " If my reasons for coming were only as good 
 as madame's — " he added. 
 
 " Who knows ? " she said, with her eye resting 
 idly on his flowered waistcoat, and dropping to
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 39 
 
 the incongruous enamelled knee-boots with their 
 red tassels. She turned to the Cur^ again, but 
 not till Valmond had added : 
 
 " Or the same — who knows ? " 
 
 Again she looked at him with drooping eyelids, 
 and a slight smile so full of acid possibilities that 
 De la Riviere drew in a sibilant breath of delight. 
 Her movement had been as towards an imperti- 
 nence ; but as she caught Valmond's eye, some- 
 thing in it so really boy-like, earnest, and free 
 from insolence met hers, that, with a little way she 
 had, she laid back her head slowly, her lips parted 
 anew, in a sweet, ambiguous smile, her glance 
 dwelt on him with a humorous interest, or flash of 
 purpose, and she said softly : 
 
 " Nobody knows — eh ? " 
 
 She could not resist the delicate malice of the 
 exclamation, she imitated the gaucherie so de- 
 lightfully. Valmond did not fail to see her mean- 
 ing, but he was too wise to show it. 
 
 He hardly knew how it was he had answered 
 her unhesitatingly in English, for it had been his 
 purpose to avoid speaking English in Pontiac. 
 
 Presently Madame Chalice caught sight of Mon- 
 sieur Garon coming from the house. When he 
 saw her he stopped short in delighted surprise. 
 Gathering up her skirts, she ran to him, put both 
 hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on the 
 cheek. 
 
 " Monsieur Garon, Monsieur Garon, my good 
 avocat, my Solon, are the coffee, and the history.
 
 40 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 and the blest Madeira still chez-toi ? " she asked 
 gayly. 
 
 There was no jealousy in the Cur6 ; he smiled 
 at the scene with great benevolence, for he was 
 as a brother to Monsieur Garon. If he had any 
 good thing, it was his first wish to share it with 
 him, even to taking him miles away to some sim- 
 ple home where a happy thing had come to poor 
 folk — the return of a prodigal son, a daughter's 
 fortunate marriage, or the birth of a child to child- 
 less people ; and there together they exchanged 
 pinches of snuff over the event, and made compli- 
 ments from the same mould, nor desired difference 
 of pattern. To the pretty lady's words, Monsieur 
 Garon blushed, and his thin hand fluttered to his 
 lips. As if in sympathy the Cure's fingers trem- 
 bled to his cassock cord. 
 
 "Madame, dear madame " — the Cur^ approved 
 by a caressing nod — "we are all the same here 
 in our hearts and in our homes, and if anything 
 be good in them it is because you are pleased. 
 You bring sunshine and relish to our lives, dear 
 madame." 
 
 The Cur6 beamed. This was after his own 
 heart, and he had ever said that his dear avocat 
 would have been a brilliant orator, were it not for 
 his retiring spirit. For himself, he was no speaker 
 at all ; he could only do his duty and love his 
 people. So he had declared over and over 
 again, and the look in his eyes said the same 
 now.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 4 1 
 
 Madame's eyes were shining with tears. This 
 admiration of her was too real to be doubted. 
 
 "And yet, and yet — " she said, with a hand in 
 the Curb's and the avocat's, drawing them near 
 her, " a heretic, my dear friends ! How should I 
 stand in your hearts if I were only of your faith ? 
 Or is it that you yearn over the lost sheep more 
 than over the ninety and nine of the fold ? " 
 
 There was a real moisture in her eyes, and in 
 her own heart she wondered, this fresh and 
 venturing spirit, if she cared for them as they 
 seemed to care for her — for she felt she had an 
 inherent strain of the actress temperament, while 
 these honest provincials were wholly real. 
 
 But if she made them happy by her gayety, 
 what matter ? And so the tears dried as she 
 flashed a malicious look at the young Seigneur, 
 as though to say : " You had your chance, and you 
 made nothing of it, and these simple gentlemen 
 have done the gracious thing." 
 
 Perhaps it was a liberal interpretation of his 
 creed which prompted the Cure to add with a 
 quaint smile : 
 
 " ' Thou art not far from the Kingdom,' my 
 daughter." 
 
 The avocat, who had no vanity, hastened to add 
 to his former remarks, as if he had been guilty of 
 an oversight : 
 
 " Dear madame, you have flattered my poor 
 gleanings in history ; I am happy to tell you that 
 there is here another and a better pilot in that sea.
 
 42 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 It is Monsieur Valmond," he added, his voice 
 chirruping in his pleasure. " For Napoleon " 
 
 " Ah, Napoleon, yes, Napoleon ? " she said, 
 turning to Valmond with a look half of interest, 
 half of incredulity. 
 
 " — For Napoleon is, through him, a revelation," 
 the avocat went on. " He fills in the vague spaces, 
 clears up mysteries of incident, and gives, instead, 
 mystery of character." 
 
 " Indeed," she added, still incredulous, but 
 interested in this bizarre figure who had so 
 worked upon her old friend ; interested because 
 she had a keen scent for mystery, and instinctively 
 felt it here before her. Like De la Riviere, she 
 perceived a strange combination of the gentleman 
 and — something else ; but, unlike him, she saw 
 also a light in the face and eyes that might be 
 genius, poetry, adventure. For the incongruities, 
 what did they matter to her ? She wished to 
 probe life, to live it, to race the whole gamut of 
 inquiry, experience, follies, loves, and sacrifices, 
 to squeeze the orange dry, and then to die while 
 yet young, having gone the full compass, the 
 needle pointing home. She was as broad as 
 sumptuous in her nature ; so what did a. gauche- 
 rie matter, or this dash of the Oriental in a citizen 
 of the Occident ? 
 
 " Then we must set the centuries right, and so 
 on — if you will come to see me when I am settled 
 at the Manor," she said to Valmond. He bowed, 
 expressed his pleasure a little oracularly, and was
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 43 
 
 about to say something else, but she turned deftly 
 to De la RiviSre, with a sweetness which made up 
 for her previous irony to him, and said : 
 
 " You, my excellent Seigneur, will come to 
 breakfast with me one day ? My husband will 
 be here soon. When you see our flag flying, you 
 will find the table always laid for four." 
 
 Then to the Cur6 and the avocat : " You shall 
 visit me whenever you will, and you are to wait 
 for nothing, or I shall come to fetch you. I 
 am so glad to see you. And now, dear Cur6, 
 will you take me to my carriage ? " 
 
 A surf of dust rising back of the carriage soon 
 hid her from view ; but four men, left behind in 
 the little garden, stood watching, as if they ex- 
 pected to see a vision in rose and gold rise from it ; 
 and each was smiling unconsciously.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 I^INCE Friday night the good Cur^, in his calm, 
 philosophical way, had brooded much over the 
 talk in the garden upon France, the Revolution, 
 and Napoleon. As a rule, his sermons were com- 
 monplace almost to a classical simplicity, but 
 there were times when, moved by some new 
 theme, he talked to the villagers as if they, like 
 himself, were learned and wise. 
 
 His thoughts reverted to his old life in France, 
 to the two Napoleons that he had seen, and the 
 time when, at Neuilly, a famous general burst into 
 his father's house, and with streaming tears cried : 
 
 " He is dead — he is dead — at St. Helena — Napo- 
 leon ! Oh, Napoleon ! " 
 
 A chapter of Isaiah came to the Curb's mind. 
 He brought out his Bible from the house, and 
 walking up and down read aloud certain pas- 
 sages. They kept ringing in his ears all day : 
 
 " He will surely violently turn and toss thee 
 like a ball into a large country : there shalt thou 
 die, and there the chariots of thy glory shall be 
 the shame of thy lord's house. . . . 
 
 " And it shall come to pass in that day, that I 
 will call viy servant Eliakim son of Hilkiah : 
 
 " And I will clothe him with thy robe, and
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 45 
 
 strengthen hifn with thy girdle, and T will com- 
 mit thy governtnent into his hatid. . . . 
 
 " And I will fasten him as a nail in a sure 
 place; and he shall be for a glorious throne to 
 his father s house. 
 
 " And they shall hatig upon hitn all the glory 
 of his father's house, the offspring and the 
 issue. . . ." 
 
 His face shone with a gentle benignity, as he 
 quoted these verses in the pulpit on Sunday morn- 
 ing, with a half smile, as of pleased meditation. 
 He was lost to the people before him, and when 
 he began to speak, it was as in soliloquy. He was 
 talking to a vague audience, into that space where 
 a man's eyes look when he is searching his own 
 mind, discovering it to himself. 
 
 The instability of earthly power, the putting 
 down of the great, their exile and chastening, and 
 their restoration in their own persons, or in the 
 persons of their descendants — was his subject. He 
 brought the application down to their own rude, 
 simple life, then returned with it to a higher plane. 
 
 At last, as if the memories of France " beloved 
 and incomparable" overcame him, he dwelt upon 
 the bitter glory of the Revolution. Then, with a 
 sudden flush, he spoke of Napoleon. At that name 
 the church became still, and the dullest habitant 
 listened intently. Napoleon was in the air — a 
 curious sequence to the song that was sung on 
 the night of Valmond's arrival, when a phrase 
 was put in the mouths of the parish, which gave
 
 46 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 birth to a personal reality. "Vive Napoleon !" 
 had been on every lip this week, and it was an 
 easy step from a phrase to a man. 
 
 The Cur6 spoke with pensive dignity of Napo- 
 leon's past career, his work for France, his too 
 proud ambition, behind which was his great love 
 of country, and how, for chastening, God turned 
 upon him violently and tossed him like a ball into 
 the wide land of exile, from which he came out no 
 more. 
 
 "But," continued the calm voice, "his spirit, 
 stripped of the rubbish of this quarrelsome world, 
 and freed from the spite of foes, comes out from 
 exile and lives in our France to-day — for she is 
 still ours, though we find peace, and bread to eat, 
 under another flag. And in these troubled times, 
 when France needs a man, even as a barren 
 woman a child to be the token of her woman- 
 hood, it may be that one sprung from the loins 
 of the great Napoleon may again give life to 
 the principle which some have sought to make 
 into a legend. Even as the great deliverer came 
 out of obscure Corsica, so from some outpost 
 of France, where the old watchwords still are 
 called, may rise another Napoleon, whose mis- 
 sion will be civic glory and peace alone, the 
 champion of the spirit of France, defending it 
 against the unjust. He shall be fastened as a 
 nail in a sure place, as a glorious throne to his 
 father's house." 
 
 He leaned over the pulpit, and, pausing, looked
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 47 
 
 down at his congregation. Then, all at once, he 
 was aware that he had created a profound impres- 
 sion. Just in front of him, his eyes burning with 
 a strange fire, sat Monsieur Valmond. Parpon, 
 beside him, hung over the back of a seat, his long 
 arms stretched out, his hands applauding in a 
 soundless way. Beneath the sword of Louis the 
 Martyr, the great treasure of the parish, presented 
 to this church by Marie Antoinette, sat the avo- 
 cat, his thin fingers pressed to his mouth as if to 
 stop a sound, bright spots of excitement burning 
 on his cheeks. Presently, out of pure spontaneity, 
 there ran through the church like a soft chorus : 
 
 " Oh, say, where goes your love? 
 O gai, vive le roi ! 
 He wears a silver sword, 
 Vive Napoleon ! " 
 
 The thing was unprecedented. Who had started 
 it ? Afterwards some said it was Parpon, the now 
 chosen comrade — or servant — of Valmond, who, 
 people said, had given himself up to the stranger, 
 body and soul ; but no one could swear to that. 
 Shocked, and taken out of his dream, the Curg 
 raised his hand against the song. " Hush, hush, 
 my children," he said. " Hush, I command you." 
 
 It was the sight of the upraised hands, more 
 than the Curb's voice, which stilled the outburst. 
 Those same hands had sprinkled the holy water 
 in the sacrament of baptism, had blessed man and 
 maid at the altar, had quieted the angry arm
 
 48 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 lifted to strike, had anointed tlie brow of the 
 dying, and laid a crucifix on breasts which had 
 ceased to harbor breath, and care, and love, and 
 all things else. 
 
 Silence fell. In another moment the sermon 
 was finished, but not till his eyes had again met 
 those of Valmond, and there had passed into his 
 mind a sudden, startling thought. Unconsciously 
 the Cure had declared himself the patron of all 
 that made Pontiac forever a notable spot in the 
 eyes of three nations ; and if he repented of it, no 
 man ever knew. 
 
 During mass and the sermon Valmond had sat 
 very still, once or twice smiling curiously at 
 thought of how, inactive himself, the gate of des- 
 tiny was being opened up for him. Yet he had 
 not been all inactive. He had paid much atten- 
 tion to his toilet, selecting, with purpose, the white 
 waistcoat, the long, blue-gray coat cut in a fash- 
 ion anterior to this time by thirty years or more, 
 and particularly to the arrangement of his hair. 
 He resembled Napoleon — not the later Napoleon, 
 but the Bonaparte who fought at Marengo, lean, 
 shy, laconic ; and this had startled the Cur6 in his 
 pulpit, and the rest of the little coterie. 
 
 But Madame Chalice, sitting not far from 6lise 
 Malboir, had seen the resemblance in the Curb's 
 garden on Friday evening ; and though she had 
 laughed at it, — for, indeed, the matter was ludi- 
 crous enough at first, — the impression had re- 
 mained.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 49 
 
 She was no Catholic, she did not as a rule care 
 for religious services, but there was interest in the 
 air, she was restless, the morning was inviting, she 
 was reverent of all true expression of life and feel- 
 ing, though a sad mocker in much ; and so she 
 had come to the little church. 
 
 Following Elise's intent look, she read with 
 amusement the girl's budding romance, and was 
 then suddenly arrested by the head of Valmond, 
 now half turned towards her. It had, indeed, a 
 look of the First Napoleon. Was it the hair ? Yes, 
 it must be ; but the head was not so square, so firm- 
 set, and what a world of difference in the grand 
 effect ! The one had been distant, splendid, brood- 
 ing (so she glorified him) ; the other was an im- 
 pressionist imitation, with dash, form, poetry, and 
 color. But the great strength ? It was lacking. 
 The close association of Parpon and Valmond — 
 that was droll ; yet, too, it had a sort of fitness, she 
 knew scarcely why. However, it proved that mon- 
 sieur was not a fool, in the vulgar sense, for he had 
 made a friend of a little creature who could be 
 a wasp or a humming-bird, as he pleased. Then, 
 too, the stranger had conquered her dear avocat ; 
 had won the hearts of the mothers and daughters — 
 her own servants talked of no one else ; had cap- 
 tured this pretty Elise Malboir ; had made the 
 young men imitate his walk and retail his sayings ; 
 had won from herself an invitation to visit her ; 
 and now, making an unconscious herald and 
 champion of an innocent old Cure, had set a whole 
 4
 
 so WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 congregation singing "Vive Napoleon" after 
 mass. 
 
 Napoleon ? She threw back her pretty head, 
 laughed softly, and fanned herself. Napoleon .-' 
 Why, of course, there could be no real connec- 
 tion ; the man was an impostor, a base impostor, 
 playing upon the credulities of a secluded village. 
 Absurd — and interesting ! So interesting, she did 
 not resent the attention given to Valmond, to the 
 exclusion of herself; though, to speak truly, her 
 vanity desired not admiration more than is in- 
 herent in the race of women, whose way to power, 
 through centuries, has been personal influence. 
 
 Yet she was very dainty this morning, good to 
 look at, and refreshing, with everything in flower- 
 like accord ; simple in general effect, though with 
 touches of the dramatic here and there — in the 
 little black patch on the delicate healtn of her 
 cheek, in the seductive arrangements of her laces. 
 She loved dress, all the vanities, but she had some- 
 thing that rose above them — an imaginative mind, 
 certain of whose faculties had been sharpened to a 
 fine edge of cleverness and wit. For she was but 
 twenty-three, with the logic of a woman of fifty, 
 without its setness and lack of elasticity. She 
 went straight for the hearts of things, while yet 
 glittering upon the surface. 
 
 This was why Valmond interested her — not as a 
 man, a physical personality, but as a mystery to be 
 probed, discovered. Sentiment.'' Coquetry? Not 
 with him. That for less interesting men, she said.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 5 1 
 
 Why should a point or two of dress and manners 
 affect her unpleasantly ? She ought to be just, to 
 remember that there was a touch of the fantastic, 
 of the barbaric, in all genius. 
 
 Was he a genius ? For an instant she almost 
 thought that he was, when she saw the people 
 make way for him to pass out of the church, as 
 though he were a great personage, Parpon trotting 
 behind him. He carried himself with true appre- 
 ciation of the incident, acknowledging more by 
 look than by sign this courtesy. 
 
 " Upon my word," she said, " he has them in his 
 pocket ! " Then, unconsciously plagiarizing Par- 
 pon : " Prince or barber — a toss-up, indeed ! " 
 
 Outside, many had gathered round Medallion. 
 The auctioneer, who liked the unique thing and 
 was not without tact, so took on himself the office 
 of inquisitor, even as there rose again little snatches 
 of " Vive Napoleon " from the crowd. He ap- 
 proached Valmond, who was moving on towards 
 the Louis Quinze, with just valuation of a time for 
 disappearing. 
 
 "We know you, sir," said Medallion, "as Mon- 
 sieur Valmond, but there are those who think you 
 would let us address you by a name better known — 
 indeed, the name dear to all Frenchmen. If it be 
 so, will you not let us call you Napoleon " (he took 
 off his hat, and Valmond did the same), " and will 
 you tell us what we may do for you ?" 
 
 Madame Chalice, a little way off, watched Val- 
 mond closely. He seemed to hesitate a moment,
 
 52 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 yet he was not outwardly nervous, and presently 
 answered with an air of empressement: 
 ' "Monsieur, my friends, I am in the hands of 
 Fate. I am dumb. Fate speaks for me. But we 
 shall know each other better ; and I trust you, 
 who, as Frenchmen, descended from a better day in 
 France, will not betray me. Let us be patient till 
 Destiny strikes the hour." 
 
 For the first time to-day he now saw Madame 
 Chalice. She could have done no better thing to 
 serve him, than to hold out her hand, and say 
 in her clear tones, which had, too, a fascinating 
 sort of monotony : 
 
 " Monsieur, if you are idle Friday afternoon, per- 
 haps you will bestow on me a half-hour at the 
 Manor; and I will try to make half mine no bad 
 one." 
 
 He was keen enough to feel the delicacy of the 
 point through the deftness of the phrase ; and 
 what he said and what he did now had no pose, 
 but sheer gratitude. With a few gracious words 
 to Medallion she bowed and drove away, leaving 
 Valmond in the midst of an admiring crowd. 
 
 He was launched on an adventure as whimsical 
 as tragical, if he was an impostor ; and if he was 
 not, as pathetic as droll. He was scarcely con- 
 scious that Parpon walked beside him, till the 
 dwarf said : 
 
 " Hold on, my dauphin, you walk too fast for 
 your poor fool."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ir* ROM this hour Valmond was carried on by a 
 wave of fortune. Before vespers that night, it was 
 common talk that he was a true son of the great 
 Napoleon, born at St. Helena. 
 
 Why did he come to Pontiac ? He wished to 
 be in retirement till his friends, acting for him in 
 France, gave him the signal, and then with a 
 small army of French Canadians he would cross 
 the sea, and land in France. Thousands would 
 gather round his standard, and so marching on 
 to Paris, the Napoleonic faith would be revived, 
 and he would come into his own. It is possible 
 that these stories might have been traced to Par- 
 pon, but he had covered up his trail so well that 
 no one followed him. 
 
 On that Sunday evening, young men and old 
 flocked into his room at the Louis Ouinze, shook 
 hands with him, addressing him as " Your Excel- 
 lency "or " Your Highness," and so on. He main- 
 tained towards them a mysterious yet kindly re- 
 serve, singularly effective. They inspected the 
 martial furnishing of the room : the drum, the pair 
 of rifles, the pistols in the corner, the sabres crossed 
 on the wall, the gold-handled sword that lay upon 
 the table, and the picture of Napoleon on a white
 
 54 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 horse, against the wall. Tobacco and wine were 
 set upon a side table, and every man as he passed 
 out, took a glass and enough tobacco for his pipe, 
 and said : " Of grace, your health, monseigneur ! " 
 
 There were those who scoffed, who from sheer 
 habit disbelieved, and nodded knowingly, and 
 whispered in each other's ears ; but these were in 
 the minority ; and all the women and children 
 declared for "The Man of Destiny." And when 
 some foolish body asked him for a lock of his hair, 
 and old Madame D^gardy (Crazy Joan, as she was 
 called) followed, offering him a pinch of snuff, and 
 a lad appeared with a bunch of violets from 
 Madame Chalice, the dissentients were cast in 
 shadow, and had no longer courage to doubt. 
 
 Madame Chalice had been merely whimsical in 
 sending these violets, which her gardener had 
 brought her that very morning. 
 
 " It will help along the pretty farce," she had 
 said to herself, and then she sat her down to read 
 Napoleon's letters to Josephine, and to wonder 
 that a woman could have been faithless and vile 
 with such a man. Her blood raced indignantly in 
 her veins, as she thought of it. She admired intel- 
 lect, supremacy, the gifts of temperament, deeds of 
 war and adventure beyond all. As yet her brain 
 was stronger than her feelings ; there had been no 
 breakers of emotion in her life. A wife, she had 
 no child; the mother in her was spent upon her 
 husband, whose devotion, honor, name, and good- 
 ness were dear to her. Yet — yet she had a world
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 55 
 
 of her own, and reading- Napoleon's impassioned 
 letters to his wife, written with how great hom- 
 age, in the flow of the tide washing to famous 
 battlefields, an exultation of ambition inspired her, 
 and the genius of her distinguished ancestors set 
 her heart beating hard. Presently, her face alive 
 with feeling, a furnace in her eyes, she repeated 
 a paragraph from Napoleon's letters to Josephine : 
 
 " The e7iemy have lost, my dearest, eighteen 
 thousand men, prisotiers, killed, and wounded. 
 Wurmzer has nothing left but to throw himself 
 into Mantua. I hope soon to be in your arms. 
 I love you to distraction. All is well. Nothing 
 is wanting to your husband's happiness, save 
 the love of yosephi7ie." 
 
 She sprang to her feet. " And she, wife of a 
 hero, was in common intrigue with Hippolyte 
 Charles at the time ! She had a conqueror, a 
 splendid adventurer, and coming emperor, for a 
 husband, and she loved him not. I— I could have 
 knelt to him — worshipped him. I " — With a 
 little hysterical, disdainful laugh (as of the soul 
 at itself) she leaned upon the window, looking into 
 the village below, alternately smiling and frowning 
 at the thought of this adventurer down at the 
 Louis Quinze. 
 
 "Yet, who can tell? Napoleon dressed infa- 
 mously, too, before he was successful, and Dis- 
 raeli was half mountebank at the start," she said. 
 But again she laughed, as at an absurdity. 
 
 During the next few days Valmond was every-
 
 56 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 where — kind, liberal, tireless, at times melan- 
 choly; "in the distant perspective of the stage," 
 as Monsieur De la Riviere remarked mockingly. 
 But a passing member of the legislature met and 
 was conquered by Valmond, and carried on to 
 neighboring parishes the wondrous tale. 
 
 He carried it through Ville Bambord, fifty miles 
 away, and the story 'of how a Napoleon had come to 
 Pontiac, reached the ears of old Sergeant Eustache 
 Lagroin of the Old Guard, who had fought with 
 the Great Emperor at Waterloo, and in his army 
 on twenty other battlefields. He had been at 
 Fontainebleau when Napoleon bade farewell to 
 the Old Guard, saying : " For twenty years I have 
 ever found you in the path of honor and glory. 
 Adieu, my children ; I would I were able to press 
 you all to my heart — but I will at least press your 
 eagle. I go to record the great deeds we have 
 done together." 
 
 When the gossip came to Lagroin, as he sat in 
 his doorway, babbling of Grouchy, and Lannes, 
 and Davoust, the Little Corporal outflanking them 
 all in his praise, his dim eyes flared out from the 
 distant sky of youth and memory, his lips pursed 
 in anger, and he got to his feet, his stick pounding 
 angrily on the ground. 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! " said he. " A lie ! a pretty lie ! 
 I knew all the Napoleons — Joseph, Lucien, Louis, 
 Jerome, Caroline, Eliza, Pauline — all ! I have seen 
 them every one. And their children — pah! Who 
 can deceive me ? I will go to Pontiac, I will see
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC S7 
 
 to this tomfoolery. I'll bring the rascal to the 
 drumhead. Does he think there is no one ? Pish ! 
 I will spit him at the first stroke. Here, here, 
 Manette," he cried to his grand-daughter, " fetch 
 out my uniform, give it an airing, and see to the 
 buttons. I will show this brag how one of the Old 
 Guard looked at Saint Jean. Quick, my sabre 
 polish ; I'll clean my musket, and to-morrow I will 
 go to Pontiac. I'll put the scamp through his 
 facings — but, yes ! I am eighty-five, but I have an 
 arm of thirty ! " 
 
 True to his word, the next morning at daybreak 
 he started to walk to Pontiac, accompanied for a 
 mile or so by Manette and a few of the villagers. 
 
 "See you, my child," he said, " I will stay with 
 my niece, Desire Malboir, and her daughter Elise 
 there in Pontiac. You shall hear how I fetch that 
 vagabond to his potage ! " 
 
 Valmond had purchased a tolerable white horse 
 through Medallion, and after a day's grooming 
 the beast showed off very well, and he was now 
 seen riding about the parish, dressed after the 
 manner of the First Napoleon, with a cocked hat, 
 and a short sword at his side. He rode well, and 
 the silver and pennies he scattered were most 
 fruitful of effect from the martial elevation. He 
 happened to be riding into the village at one end, 
 as Sergeant Lagroin entered it at the other, each 
 going toward the Louis Ouinze. Valmond knew 
 nothing of Sergeant Lagroin, so that what fol- 
 lowed was of the inspiration of the moment. It
 
 58 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 sprang from his wit, and from his knowledge of 
 Napoleon and the Napoleonic history, a knowl- 
 edge which had sent Monsieur Garon into tears 
 of joy, and afterward off to the Manor House and 
 also to the Seigneury, full of praise of him. 
 
 Catching sight of the irate sergeant, the signifi- 
 cance of the thing flashed to his brain, and, sitting 
 very straight, Valmond rode steadily down towards 
 the old soldier. The sergeant had drawn notice as 
 he came up the street, and people thronged to their 
 doors, and children followed the gray, dust-covered 
 veteran in his last-century uniform. He came as 
 far as the Louis Ouinze, and then, looking on up 
 the road, he saw the white horse, the cocked hat, 
 the white waistcoat, and the long gray coat. He 
 brought his stick down smartly on the ground, 
 drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and said : 
 "Courage, Eustache Lagroin. It is not forty 
 Prussians, but one rogue. Crush him ! Down 
 with the pretender ! " 
 
 So, with a defiant light in his eye, he came on, 
 the old uniform sagging loosely on the shrunken 
 body, which yet was soldier-like from head to 
 foot. Years of camp and discipline, and battle and 
 endurance, were in the whole aspect of the man. 
 He was no more of Pontiac and this simple life 
 than Valmond himself. 
 
 So they neared each other, the challenger and 
 the challenged, the champion and the invader ; 
 and quickly the village emptied itself out to see. 
 
 When Valmond came so close that he could see
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 59 
 
 every detail of the old man's uniform, he suddenly 
 reined in his horse, drew him back on his haunches 
 with his left hand, and with his right saluted, not 
 the old sergeant, but the coat of the Old Guard, 
 to which his eyes were directed. Mechanically 
 the hand of the sergeant came to his cap, then, 
 with an angry movement, the old man seemed as 
 though he would attack him. 
 
 Valmond sat very still, his right hand thrust m 
 his bosom, his forehead bent, his eyes calmly, 
 resolutely, yet distantly, looking at the sergeant, 
 who grew suddenly still also, while the people 
 watched and wondered. 
 
 A soft light passed across Valmond's face, re- 
 lieving its theatrical firmness, and the half-con- 
 temptuous curl of his lip. He knew well enough 
 that this event would make or unmake him in 
 Pontiac. He became also aware that a carriag-e 
 had driven up among the villagers, and had 
 stopped, and though he did not look directly he 
 felt that it was Madame Chalice. This sudden 
 gentleness was not all assumed ; for the ancient 
 uniform of the sergeant touched something within 
 him, the true comedian, or the true Napoleon, 
 and it seemed as if he might get from his horse 
 and take the old soldier in his arms. 
 
 He rode forward, and paused again, with not 
 more than fifteen feet between them. The ser- 
 geant's brain was going round like a top. It was 
 not he that challenged, after all. 
 
 " Soldier of the Old Guard," cried Valmond, in a
 
 6o WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 clear, ringing voice, " how far is it to Fried- 
 land ? " 
 
 Like a machine the veteran's hand went again 
 to his cap, and he answered : 
 
 "To Friedland— the width of a ditch." 
 
 His voice shook as he said it, and the world to 
 him was all a muddle ; for this question Napoleon 
 the Great had asked a private after that battle 
 on the AUe, when Berningsen, the Russian, threw 
 away an army to the master strategist. 
 
 The private had answered the question in the 
 words of Sergeant Lagroin. It was a saying long 
 afterward among the Old Guard, though it may 
 not be found in the usual histories of that time, 
 where every battalion, almost every company, had 
 a watchword, which passed to make room for 
 others, as victory followed victory. 
 
 "Soldier of the Old Guard," said Valmond again, 
 " how came you by those scars upon your fore- 
 head ? " 
 
 " I was a drummer at Auerstadt, a corporal at 
 Austerlitz, a sergeant at Waterloo," rolled back 
 the reply, in a high, quavering voice, as memories 
 of great events blew in upon the ancient fires of 
 his spirit. 
 
 " Ah," answered Valmond, nodding eagerly, 
 "with Davoust at Auerstadt — thirty against sixty 
 thousand men. At eight o'clock, all fog and mist, 
 as you marched up the defile toward the Sonnen- 
 berg hills, the brave Gudin and his division feeling 
 their way to Blucher. Comrade, how still you
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 6l 
 
 stepped, your bayonet before you, clearing tlie 
 mists, your eyes straining, your teeth set, ready 
 to thrust. All at once a quick moving mass 
 sprang out of the haze, and upon you, with hardly 
 a sound of warning ; and an army of hussars 
 launched themselves at your bayonets ! You bent 
 that wall back like a piece of steel, and broke it. 
 Comrade, that was the beginning, in the mists of 
 morning. Tell me, how fared you in the light 
 of evening, at the end of that bloody day ? " 
 
 The old soldier was trembling. There was no 
 sign, no movement from the crowd. Across the 
 fields came the sharpening of a scythe and the 
 cry of the grasshoppers, and the sound of a mill- 
 wheel arose near by. In the mill itself, in a high 
 dormer window, sat Parpon and his black cat, 
 looking down upon the scene with a grim 
 smiling. 
 
 The old sergeant saw again that mist fronting 
 Sonnenberg rise up and show ten thousand splen- 
 did cavalry and fifty thousand infantry, with a king 
 and a prince to lead them down upon those malle- 
 able but unmoving squares of French infantry. 
 He saw himself drumming the Prussians back and 
 his Frenchmen on. 
 
 " Beautiful God ! " he cried proudly, " that was 
 a day ! And every man of the Third Corps that 
 time he lift up the lid of hell and drop a Prussian 
 in. I stand beside Davoust once, and ping come a 
 bullet, and take off his chapeau. It fell upon my 
 drum. I stoop and pick it up, and hand it to him.
 
 62 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 but I keep drumming with one hand all the time. 
 ' Comrade,' say I, ' the army thank you for your 
 courtesy.' ' Brother,' he say, ' 'twas to your 
 drum,' and his eye flash out where Gudin carved 
 his way through those pigs of Prussians. ' I'd 
 take my head off to keep your saddle filled, com- 
 rade,' say I. Ping ! come a bullet and catch me 
 in the calf. ' You hold your head too high, bro- 
 ther,' the general say, and he smile. ' I'll hold it 
 higher, comrade,' answer I, and I snatch at a 
 soldier. • Up with me on your shoulder, big com- 
 rade,' I say, and he lift me up. I make my sticks 
 sing on the leather. ' You shall take off your hat 
 to the Little Corporal to-morrow if you've still 
 your head, brother,' — he speak like that, and then 
 he ride away like the devil to Morand's guns. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 The sergeant's face was blazing, but with a 
 white sort of glare, for he was very pale, and he 
 seemed unconscious of all save the scene in his 
 mind's eye. "Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed again. 
 " Beautiful God, how did Davoust bring us on up 
 to Sonnenberg ! And next day I saw the Little 
 Corporal. ' Drummer,' say he, ' no head's too 
 high for my Guard. Come, you, comrade, your 
 general gives you to me. Come, Corporal La- 
 groin,' he call ; and I come. ' But, first,' he say, 
 ' up on the shoulder of your big soldier again, 
 and play.' ' What shall I play, sire ? ' I ask. ' Play 
 ten thousand heroes to Walhalla,' he answer. 
 I play, and I think of my brother Jacques,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 63 
 
 who went fighting to heaven the day before. 
 Beautiful God, that was a day at Auerstadt ! " 
 
 "Soldier," said Valmond, waving his hand, 
 " step on. There is a drum at the Louis Quinze. 
 Let us go together, comrade." 
 
 The old sergeant was in a dream. He wheeled, 
 the crowd made way for him, and at the neck of 
 the white horse he came on to the hotel. As they 
 passed the carriage of Madame Chalice, Valmond 
 made no sign. They stopped in front of the hotel, 
 and Valmond, motioning to the gargon, gave him 
 an order. The old sergeant stood silent, his eyes 
 full fixed upon him. In a moment the boy came 
 out with the drum. Valmond took it, and holding 
 it in his hands, said softly : 
 
 " Soldier of the Old Guard, here is a drum of 
 France." 
 
 Without a word the old man took the drum, his 
 fingers trembling as he fastened it to his belt. 
 When he seized the sticks, all trembling ceased, 
 and his hands and body grew steady. He was 
 living in the past entirely. 
 
 "Soldier," said Valmond, in a loud voice, "re- 
 member Austerlitz. The Heights of Pratzen are 
 before you. Play up the feet of the army." 
 
 For an instant the old man did not move, and 
 then a sullen sort of look came over his face. He 
 was not a drummer at Austerlitz, and for the in- 
 stant he did not remember the tune the drummers 
 played. 
 
 "Soldier," said Valmond, softly, "with 'The
 
 64 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Little Sword that Danced,' play up the feet of the 
 army." 
 
 A light broke over the old man's face. The 
 swift look he cast on Valmond had no distrust now. 
 Instantly his hand went to his cap. 
 
 "My General ! " he said, and stepped in front of 
 the white horse. There was a moment's pause, 
 and then the sergeant's arms were raised, and 
 down came the sticks with a rolling rattle on the 
 leather. They sent a shiver of feeling through the 
 village, and turned the meek white horse into a 
 charger of war. No man laughed at the drama 
 performed in Pontiac that day, not even the little 
 coterie who were present, not even Monsieur De 
 la Riviere, whose brow was black with hatred, for 
 he had watched the eyes of Madame Chalice fill 
 with tears at the old sergeant's tale of Auerstadt, 
 had noticed her admiring glance " at this damned 
 comedian," as he now designated Valmond. When 
 he came to the carriage of Madame Chalice, she 
 said with oblique suggestion : 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Impostor ! Fakir ! " was his sulky reply. 
 
 " If fakirs and impostors are so convincing, dear 
 monsieur, why be yourself longer ? . . . 
 Listen ! " she commanded abruptly. 
 
 Valmond had spoken down at the aged drum- 
 mer, whose arms were young again, as once more 
 he marched on Pratzen. Suddenly from the ser- 
 geant's lips there broke, in a high shaking voice, to 
 the rattle of the drum :
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 65 
 
 " Conscrits au pas ; 
 
 Ne pleurez pas ; 
 
 Ne pleurez pas ; 
 
 Marchez ait pas, 
 
 Au pas, aupas, au pas, aupas!" 
 
 They had not gone twenty yards before fifty 
 men and boys, caught in the inflammable moment, 
 sprang out from the crowd, fell involuntarily, into 
 rough marching order, and joined in the inspiring 
 refrain : 
 
 " Marchez au pas, 
 Aupas, aupas, aupas, aupas!" 
 
 The old man in front was charged anew. All 
 at once, at a word from Valmond, he broke into 
 the Marseillaise, with his voice and with his drum. 
 To these Frenchmen of an age before the Revolu- 
 tion, the Marseillaise had only been a song. Now 
 in their ignorant breasts there waked the spirit of 
 France, and from their throats there burst out with 
 a half-delirious ecstasy ; 
 
 " Allans, en f ants de la pa trie, 
 Le jour de gloire est arrivi" 
 
 As they neared the Louis Quinze a dozen men, 
 just arrived in the village, returned from river- 
 driving, carried away by the chant, tumultuously 
 joined the cavalcade, and so came on in a fever of 
 vague patriotism. A false note in the proceedings, 
 5
 
 66 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 a mismove on the part of Valmond, would easily 
 have made the thing ridiculous ; but even to 
 Madame Chalice, with her keen artistic sense, it 
 had a pathetic sort of dignity, by virtue of its rude 
 earnestness, its raw sincerity. She involuntarily 
 thought of the great Napoleon and his toy king- 
 dom of Elbe, of Garibaldi and his handful of 
 patriots. There were depths here, and she 
 knew it. 
 
 " Even the pantaloon may have a soul, — or a 
 king may have a heart," she said. 
 
 In front of the Louis Quinze, Valmond waved 
 his hand for a halt, and the ancient drummer 
 wheeled and faced him, fronting the crowd. Val- 
 mond was pale, and his eyes burned like rest- 
 less ghosts. The Cupid bow of the thin Napole- 
 onic lips, the distant yet piercing look of the Great 
 Emperor, manifested itself in this man with start- 
 ling distinctness as he waved his hand again, and 
 the crowd became silent. 
 
 " My children," said he, " we have made a good 
 beginning. Once more among you the antique 
 spirit lives. From you may come the quickening 
 of our beloved country; for she is yours, though 
 here under the flag of our ancient and amiable 
 enemy you wait the hour of your return to her. 
 In you there is nothing mean or dull ; you are 
 true Frenchmen. My love is with you. And you 
 and I, true to each other, may come into our own 
 again — over there ! " 
 
 He pointed to the East.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 67 
 
 "Through you and me may France be born 
 again, and in the villages and fields and houses 
 of Normandy and Brittany you may, as did your 
 ancestors, live in peace, and bring your bones to 
 rest in that blessed and honorable ground. My 
 children, my heart is full. Let us move on to- 
 gether. Napoleon from St. Helena calls to you. 
 Napoleon in Pontiac calls to you ! Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 Reckless cheering followed ; many were carried 
 away into foolish tears, and Valmond sat still and 
 let them kiss his hand, while pitchers of wine 
 went round. 
 
 Again he raised his hand, and getting silence 
 with a gesture, he opened his waistcoat, and took 
 from his bosom an order fastened to a little bar of 
 gold. 
 
 " Drummer," he said, in a clear full tone, " call 
 the army to attention." 
 
 The old man set their blood tingling with the 
 impish sticks. 
 
 " I advance Sergeant Lagroin of the Old Guard, 
 of glorious memory, to the rank of Captain in my 
 Household Troops, and I command you to obey 
 him as such." 
 
 His look then bent upon the crowd as Napo- 
 leon's might have done on the Third Corps. 
 
 "Drummer, call the army to attention," fell the 
 words again. 
 
 And like a small whirlwind of hailstones the 
 sticks shook on the drum.
 
 68 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " I advance Captain Lagroin to the rank of Colo- 
 nel in my Household Troops, and I command you 
 to obey him as such." 
 
 And once more : " Drummer, call the army to 
 attention." 
 
 The sticks rang down, but they faltered a little. 
 for the drummer was trembling now. 
 
 " I advance Colonel Lagroin to the rank of Gen- 
 eral in my Household Troops, and I command you 
 to obey him as such." 
 
 He beckoned, and the old man drew near. 
 Stooping, he pinned the order upon his breast. 
 When the sergeant saw what it was, he turned 
 pale, and the drumsticks fell from his shaking 
 hands. His eyes shone like sun on wet glass, 
 then tears sprang from them upon his face. He 
 caught Valmond's hand and kissed it, and cried, 
 oblivious of them all : 
 
 "Ah, sire ! sire ! It is true. It is true. I know 
 that ribbon, and I know you are a Napoleon. Sire, 
 I love you, and I will die for you ! " 
 
 For the first time that day a touch of the fan- 
 tastic came into Valmond's manner. 
 
 "General," said he, "the centuries look down 
 on us as they looked down on him — your sire — 
 and mine ! " 
 
 He doffed his hat, and the hats of all likewise 
 came off in a strange quiet. A cheer followed, 
 and Valmond motioned for the wine to go round 
 freely. Then he got off his horse, and taking the 
 weeping old man by the arm, himself loosening
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 69 
 
 the drum from his belt, they walked into the 
 hotel. 
 
 " A cheerful bit of foolery and treason ! " said 
 De la Riviere to Madame Chalice. 
 
 " My dear Seigneur, if you only had more hu- 
 mor and less patriotism ! " she answered. "Trea- 
 son may have its virtues. It certainly is interest- 
 ing, which, in your present gloomy state, you are 
 not." 
 
 " I wonder, madame, that you can countenance 
 this imposture," he broke out. 
 
 " Excellent and superior monsieur, I wonder 
 sometimes that I can countenance you. Breakfast 
 with me on Sunday, and perhaps I will tell you 
 why — at twelve o'clock." 
 
 She drove on, but meeting the Cur6, stopped her 
 carriage. 
 
 " Why so grave, my dear Cur^ ? " she said, hold- 
 ing out her hand. 
 
 He fingered the gold cross upon his breast — she 
 had given it to him two years before. 
 
 " I am going to counsel him — Monsieur Val- 
 mond," he said. Then, with a sigh : " He sent 
 me two hundred dollars for the altar to-day, and 
 fifty dollars to buy new cassocks for myself." 
 
 "Come in the morning and tell me what he 
 says," she answered ; " and bring our dear avocat." 
 
 As she looked from her window an hour later 
 she saw bonfires burning, and up from the village 
 came the old song that had prefaced a drama in 
 Pontiac.
 
 70 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 But Elise Malboir had a keener interest that 
 night, for Valmond and Parpon brought her uncle, 
 "General Lagroin," in honor to her mother's cot- 
 tage ; and she sat listening dreamily as Valmond 
 and the old man talked of great things to be done.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 1 RINCE or plebeian, Valmond played his part 
 with equal aplomb at the simple home of Elise 
 Malboir, and at the Manor Hilaire where Madame 
 Chalice received him. On this occasion there was 
 nothing bizarre in Valmond's dress. He was in 
 black — long coat, silk stockings, the collar of his 
 waistcoat faced with white, his neckerchief white, 
 and full, his enamelled shoes adorned with sih^er 
 buckles. His present repose and decorum con- 
 trasted strangely with the fanciful display at his 
 first introduction. Madame Chalice approved in- 
 stantly, for though the costume was in itself an 
 affectation, previous to the time by a generation, 
 it was in the picture, was sedately refined. She 
 welcomed him in the salon where many another 
 distinguished man had been entertained, from 
 Frontenac, and Vaudreuil, down to Sir Guy Carle- 
 ton. The Manor belonged to her husband's peo- 
 ple seventy-five years before, and though, as a 
 banker in New York, Monsieur Chalice had be- 
 come an American of the Americans, at her re- 
 quest he had bought back from a kinsman the old 
 place as it stood, furniture and all. Bringing the 
 antique plate, china, and bric-k-brac, made in 
 France when Henri Quatre was king, she had fared
 
 72 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 away to Quebec, set the old mansion in order, and 
 was happy for a whole summer, as was her hus- 
 band, the best of fishermen and sportsmen. 
 
 The Manor stood on a knoll, behind which, 
 steppe on steppe, climbed the hills, till they ended 
 in Dalgrothe Mountain. Beyond the mountain 
 were unexplored regions, hill and valley floating 
 into hill and valley, lost in a miasmic haze, ruddy, 
 silent, untenanted, save mayhap by the strange 
 people known as the Little Good Folk of the Scarlet 
 Hills. 
 
 The house had been built in the seventeenth 
 century, and the walls were very thick, to keep 
 out both cold and attack. Beneath the high 
 pointed roof were big dormer windows, and huge 
 chimneys flanked each side of the house. The 
 great roof gave a sense of crouching or hovering, 
 for warmth or in menace. As Valmond entered 
 the garden, Madame Chalice was leaning over the 
 lower half of the entrance door, which opened 
 latitudinally, and was hung on large iron hinges 
 of quaint design, made by some seventeenth cen- 
 tury forgeron. Behind her deepened hospitably 
 the spacious hall, studded and heavy beamed, with 
 its unpainted pine ceiling toned to a good brown 
 by smoke and time. Caribou and moose antlers 
 hung along the wall, with arquebuses, powder- 
 horns, and big shot bags, swords, and even pieces 
 of armor, such as Cartier brought with him from 
 St. Malo. 
 
 Madame Chalice looked out of this ancient ave-
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 73 
 
 nue, a contrast yet a harmony; for, though her 
 dress was modern, her person had a rare touch of 
 the archaic, and fitted into the picture like a piece 
 of beautiful porcelain, colored long before the art 
 of making fadeless dyes was lost. 
 
 There was an amused, meditative smiling at 
 her lips, a kind of wonder, the flush of a new ex- 
 perience. She turned, and, stepping softly into the 
 salon, seated herself near the immense chimney, 
 in a heavily carved chair, her feet lost in the rich 
 furs on the polished floor. A table at her hand, 
 inlaid with antique silver, was dotted with rare 
 old books and miniatures, and behind her ticked 
 an ancient clock in a tall mahogany case. 
 
 Valmond came forward, hat in hand, and raised 
 to his lips the fingers she gave him. He did it 
 with the vagueness of one in a dream, she thought, 
 and she neither understood nor relished his un- 
 complimentary abstraction ; so she straightway 
 determined to give him some troublesome mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " I have waited to drink my coffee with you," 
 she said, motioning him to a seat. " And you may 
 smoke a cigarette, if you wish." 
 
 Her eyes wandered over his costume with criti- 
 cal satisfaction. 
 
 He waved his hand slightly, declining the per- 
 mission, and looked at her with an intent serious- 
 ness which took no account of the immediate 
 charm of her presence. 
 
 " I'd like to ask you a question," he said, with-
 
 74 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 out preamble. She was amused, interested. 
 Here was an unusual man, who ignored the con- 
 ventional preliminary nothings, beating down the 
 grass before the play, as it were. 
 
 " I was never good at catechism," she answered, 
 " But I will be as hospitable as I can;" 
 
 "I've felt," he said, "that you can — can see 
 through things ; that you can balance them, that 
 you get at all sides, and " 
 
 She had been reading Napoleon's letters this 
 very afternoon. 
 
 "Full squared ? " she interrupted quizzically. 
 
 "As the Great Emperor said," he answered. 
 "A woman sees farther than a man, and if she 
 has judgment as well, she's the best prophet in 
 the world." 
 
 "It sounds distinctly like a compliment," she 
 answered. " You are trying to break that 
 square ! " 
 
 She was a little mystified ; he was different from 
 any man she had ever entertained. She was not 
 half sure she liked it. Yet if he were in very truth 
 a prince — she thought smilingly of his debut in 
 flowered waistcoat, panama hat, and enamelled 
 boots ! — she should take this confidence as a com- 
 pliment ; if he were a barber, she could not resent 
 it ; she could not waste wit or time, she could not 
 even, in extremity, call the servant to show the bar- 
 ber out ; and in any case she was too comfortably 
 interested to worry herself with speculation. 
 
 " I want to ask you," he said earnestly, " what
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 75 
 
 is the thing most needed to make a great idea 
 succeed." 
 
 " I have never had a great idea," she replied. 
 
 He looked at her eagerly, with eyes that were 
 almost boy-like. 
 
 " How simple, and yet how astute he is ! " she 
 thought, remembering the event of yesterday. 
 
 "I thought you had, I was sure you had," he 
 said in a troubled sort of way. He did not see 
 that she was eluding him. 
 
 "I mean, I never had a fixed and definite idea 
 that I proceeded to apply, as you have done," she 
 explained tentatively. "But — well, I suppose that 
 the first requisite for success is absolute belief in 
 the idea ; that it be part of one's life, to suffer for, 
 to fight for, to die for, if need be — though this 
 sounds like a hand-book of moral mottoes, doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 " That's it, that's it," he said. " The thing must 
 be in your bones — hein ? " 
 
 "Also, in — your blood — heinf" she rejoined 
 slowly and meaningly, looking over the top of her 
 coffee-cup at him. Somehow again the plebeian 
 quality in that hein grated on her, and she could 
 not resist the retort. 
 
 "What!" said he, confusedly, plunging into 
 another pitfall. She had challenged him, and he 
 knew it. 
 
 " Nothing what — ever," she answered with an 
 urbanity that defied the suggestion of malice. 
 Yet, now that she remembered, she had sweetly
 
 76 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 challenged one of a royal house for the like lapse 
 into the vulgar tongue. A man should not be 
 beheaded because of a what. So she continued 
 more gravely: "The idea must be himself, all 
 of him, born with him, the rightful output of his 
 own nature, the thing he must inevitably do, or 
 waste his life." 
 
 She looked him honestly in the eyes. She had 
 spoken with the soft malice of truth, the blind 
 tyranny of the just. She had meant to test him 
 here and there by throwing little darts of satire, 
 and yet he made her serious and candid in spite 
 of herself. He did not concern her as a man of 
 personal or social possibilities — merely as an active 
 originality, who was kin to her in some part of her 
 nature. Leaning back languidly, she was eying 
 him closely from under drooping lids, smiling, too, 
 in an unimportant sort of way, as if what she had 
 said was but a trifle. 
 
 Consummate liar and comedian, or true man 
 and no pretender, his eyes did not falter. They 
 were absorbed as if in eager study of a theme. 
 
 " Yes, yes, that's it ; and if he has it, what 
 next ? " said he, meaningly. 
 
 " Well, then, opportunity, joined to coolness, 
 knowledge of men, power of combination, strategy, 
 and " — she paused, and a purely feminine curi- 
 osity impelled her to add suggestively — " and a 
 woman." 
 
 He nodded. " And a woman," he repeated 
 after her, musingly, and not turning it to account
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 77 
 
 cavalierly, as he might have done. She saw that 
 he v/as taking hinriself with a simple seriousness, 
 that appealed to her. 
 
 " You may put strategy out of the definition, 
 leaving in the woman," she added ironically. 
 
 He felt the point, and her demure dart struck 
 home. But he saw what an ally she might make. 
 Tremendous possibilities moved before him. His 
 heart beat faster than it did yesterday when the 
 old sergeant faced him. Here was beauty — he 
 admired that; power — he wished for that. What 
 might he not accomplish, no matter how wild his 
 adventure, with this wonderful creature as his 
 friend, his ally, his — he paused, remembering this 
 house had a master as well as a mistress. 
 
 " We will leave in the woman," he said quietly, 
 yet with a sort of trouble in his face. 
 
 " In your idea ? " was the negligent question. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where is the woman ? " insinuated the soft, 
 bewildering voice. 
 
 " Here," he answered emotionally ; and he 
 believed it was the truth. She stood looking med- 
 itatively out of the window, not at him. 
 
 "In Pontiac ? " she asked presently, turning 
 with a childlike surprise. " Ah ! yes, yes, I 
 know — one of the people ; quite suitable for Pon- 
 tiac ; but is it wise ? She is pretty — but is it 
 wise r 
 
 She was adroitly suggesting Elise Malboir, 
 whose little romance she had discovered.
 
 78 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 "She is the prettiest and wisest lady I ever 
 knew, or ever hope to know," he said earnestly, 
 laying his hand upon his heart. 
 
 " How far will your idea take you ? " she asked 
 evasively, her small fingers tightening a gold 
 hairpin. 
 
 "To Paris, to the Tuileries ! " he answered, 
 rising to his feet. 
 
 " And you start — from Pontiac ? " 
 
 " What difference, Pontiac or Cannes, like the 
 great master after Elbe," he said, "The prin- 
 ciple is the same." 
 
 " The money ? " 
 
 "It will come," he answered. " I have friends 
 — and hopes." 
 
 She laughed aloud. She was suddenly struck 
 by the grotesqueness of the situation. But she 
 saw how she had hurt him, and she said with 
 instant gravity : 
 
 " Of course, with those one may go far. Sit 
 down and tell me all your plans." 
 
 He was about to comply, when, glancing out 
 of the window, she saw the old sergeant, now 
 "General" Lagroin, and Parpon hastening up the 
 walk. Parpon ambled comfortably beside the 
 old man, who seemed ten years younger than he 
 had done the day before. 
 
 "Your army and cabinet, monseigneur," she 
 said, with a pretty mocking gesture of salutation. 
 
 He glanced at her reprovingly. " My gen- 
 eral, and my minister; as brave a soldier, and
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 79 
 
 as able a counsellor as ever prince had. Ma- 
 dame," he added, " they only are farceurs who 
 do not dare, and have not wisdom. My general 
 has scars from Auerstadt, Austerlitz, and Water- 
 loo ; my minister is feared — in Pontiac. Was he 
 not the trusted friend of the Grand Seigneur, as 
 he was called here, the father of your Monsieur 
 De la Riviere ? Has he yet erred in advising me ? 
 Have we yet failed >. Madame," he added, a 
 little rhetorically, " as we have begun, so will 
 we end, true to our principles, and " 
 
 " And gentlemen of the king," she quoted pro- 
 vokingly, urging him on. 
 
 "Pardon, gentlemen of the Empire, madame, 
 as time and our lives will prove. . . . Madame, 
 I thank you for your violets of Sunday last." 
 
 She admired the acumen that had seized the 
 perfect opportunity to thank her for the violets, 
 the badge of the Great Emperor. 
 
 "My hives shall not be empty of bees — or 
 honey," she said, alluding to the imperial bees, 
 and she touched his arm in a pretty, gracious 
 fashion. 
 
 " Madame— ah, madame ! " he replied, and his 
 eyes grew moist. 
 
 She bade the servant admit Lagroin and Par- 
 pon. They bowed profoundly, first to Valmond, 
 and afterwards to Madame Chalice. She noted 
 the distinction, and it amused her. She read in the 
 old man's eye the soldier's contempt for women, 
 together with his new-born reverence and love
 
 8o WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 for Valmond. Lagroin was still dressed in the 
 uniform of the Old Guard, and wore on his breast 
 the sacred ribbon which Valmond had given him 
 the day before. 
 
 "Well, General ? " said Valmond. 
 
 " Sire," said the old man, " they mock us in the 
 streets. Come to the window, sire." 
 
 The sire fell on the ears of Madame Chalice 
 like a mot in a play ; but Valmond, living up to 
 his part, was grave and considerate. He walked 
 to the window, and the old man said : 
 
 " Sire, do you not hear a drum ? " 
 
 A faint rat-tat came up the road. Valmond 
 bowed. 
 
 "Sire," the old man continued, "I would not 
 act till I had your orders." 
 
 " Whence comes the mockery ? " Valmond 
 asked quietly. 
 
 The other shook his head. " Sire, I do not know. 
 But I remember of such a thing happening to the 
 Emperor. It was in the garden of the Tuileries, 
 and twenty-four battalions of the Old Guard filed 
 past our great chief. Some fool sent out a gamin 
 dressed in regimentals in front of one of the 
 bands, and then " 
 
 " Enough, General," said Valmond, " I under- 
 stand. I will go down into the village — eh, mon- 
 sieur?" he added, turning to Parpon with im- 
 pressive consideration. 
 
 "Sire, there is one behind these mockers," an- 
 swered the little man, in a low voice.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 8l 
 
 Valmond turned toward Madame Chalice. " I 
 know my enemy, madame," he said. 
 
 " Your enemy is not here," she rejoined kindly. 
 
 He stooped over her hand and kissed it, and 
 bowed Lagroin and Parpon to the door. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I thank you. Will you 
 accept a souvenir of him whom we both love, 
 martyr and friend of France ? " 
 
 He drew from his breast a small painting of 
 Napoleon, on ivory, and handed it to her, 
 
 " It was the work of David," he continued. 
 " You will find it well authenticated. Look upon 
 the back of it." She looked, and her heart beat 
 a little faster. 
 
 "This was done when he was alive?" she 
 said. 
 
 " For the King of Rome," he replied. " Adieu, 
 madame. Again I thank you, for our cause as 
 for myself." 
 
 He turned away. She let him go as far as the 
 door. 
 
 " Wait, wait," she said suddenly, a warm light 
 in her face, for her imagination had been touched, 
 " tell me, tell me the truth. Who are you ? Are 
 you really a Napoleon ? I can be a good friend, 
 a constant ally, but I charge you, speak the truth 
 to me. Are you — ? " She stopped abruptly. 
 " No, no ; do not tell me," she added quickly. " If 
 you are not what you claim, you will be your own 
 executioner. I will ask for no further proof than 
 did Sergeant Lagroin. It is in a small way yet,
 
 82 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 but you are playing a terrible game. Do you 
 realize what may happen ? " 
 
 " In the hour that you ask a last proof I will 
 give it," he said, almost fiercely. " I go now to 
 meet an enemy." 
 
 " If I should change that enemy into a friend — " 
 she hinted. 
 
 " Then I should have no need of stratagem or 
 force." 
 
 " Force ? " she asked suggestively. The drollery 
 of it set her smiling. 
 
 " In a week I shall have five hundred men." 
 
 " Dreamer ! " she thought, and shook her head 
 dubiously ; but, glancing again at the ivory por- 
 trait, her mood changed. 
 
 " Au revoir," she said, " come and tell me about 
 the mockers. Success go with you — sire." 
 
 Yet she hardly knew whether she thought him 
 sire or sinner, gentleman or comedian, as she 
 watched him go down the hill with Lagroin and 
 Parpon. But she had the portrait. How did he 
 get it ? No matter, it was hers now. 
 
 Curious to know more of the episode in the vil- 
 lage below, she ordered her carriage, and came 
 driving slowly past the Louis Quinze at an excit- 
 ing moment. A crowd had gathered, and boys 
 and even women were laughing and singing in 
 ridicule snatches of, "Vive Napoleon !" For, in 
 derision of yesterday's event, a small boy, tricked 
 out with a paper cocked hat and incongruous 
 regimentals, with a hobby-horse between his legs.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 83 
 
 was marching up and down, preceded by another 
 lad, who played a toy drum in mockery of La- 
 groin. The children had been well rehearsed, 
 for even as Valmond arrived upon the scene, La- 
 groin and Parpon on either side of him, the mock 
 Valmond was bidding the drummer, " Play up the 
 feet of the army." 
 
 The crowd parted on either side, silenced and 
 awed by the look of potential purpose in the face 
 of this yesterday's hero. The old sergeant's glance 
 was full of fury. Parpen's of a devilish sort of glee. 
 
 Valmond approached the lads. 
 
 " My children," he said kindly, "you have not 
 learned your lesson well enough. You shall be 
 taught." He took the paper caps from their heads. 
 " I will give you better caps than these." He took 
 the hobby-horse, the drum, and the tin swords. 
 "I will give you better things than these." He 
 put the caps on the ground, added the toys to the 
 heap, and Parpon, stooping, lighted the paper. 
 Then scattering money among the crowd, and 
 giving some silver to the lads, Valmond stood 
 looking at the bonfire for a moment, and pointing 
 to it dramatically said : 
 
 " My friends, my brothers. Frenchmen, we will 
 light larger fires than these. Your young Seign- 
 eur sought to do me honor this afternoon. I 
 thank him, and he shall have proof of my affection 
 in good time. And now our good landlord's wine 
 is free to you, for one goblet each. — My children," 
 he added, turning to the little mockers, "come to
 
 84 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 me to-morrow, and I will show you how to be 
 soldiers. My general shall teach you what to do, 
 and I will teach you what to say." 
 
 Valmond had conquered. Almost instantly 
 there arose the old admiring cries of, " Vh>e Napo- 
 leon .' " and he knew that he had regained his 
 ground. Amid the pleasant tumult the three 
 entered the hotel together, like people in a 
 play. 
 
 As they were going up the stairs, the dwarf 
 whispered to the old soldier, who laid his hand 
 fiercely upon the fine sword at his side, given him 
 that morning by Valmond. Looking down, La- 
 groin saw the young Seigneur maliciously laugh- 
 ing at them, as if in delight at the mischief he 
 had caused. 
 
 That night, at nine o'clock, the old sergeant 
 went to the Seigneury, knocked, and was admitted 
 to a room where were seated the young Seigneur, 
 Medallion, and the avocat. 
 
 " Well, General," said De la Rivi&re, rising with 
 great formality, " what may I do to serve you ? 
 Will you join our party ? " He motioned to a chair. 
 
 The old man's lips were set and stern, and he 
 vouchsafed no reply to the hospitable request. 
 
 " Monsieur," he said, "to-day you threw dirt at 
 my great master. He is of royal blood, and he 
 may not fight you. But I, monsieur, his general, 
 demand satisfaction — swords or pistols ! " 
 
 De la Rivifere sat down, leaned back in his chair, 
 and laughed. Without a word the old man stepped
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 85 
 
 forward and struck him across the mouth with his 
 red cotton handkerchief. 
 
 " Then take that, monsieur," said he, "from one 
 who fought for the First Napoleon, and will fight 
 for this Napoleon against the tongue of slander 
 and the acts of fools. I killed two Prussians once 
 for saying that the Great Emperor's shirt stuck out 
 below his waistcoat. You'll find me at the Louis 
 Quinze," he added, before De la RiviSre, choking 
 with wrath, could do more than get to his feet ; 
 and, wheeling, he left the room. 
 
 The young Seigneur would have followed him, 
 but the avocat laid a restraining hand upon his 
 arm, and Medallion said : " Dear Seigneur, see, 
 you can't fight him. The parish would only 
 laugh." 
 
 De la Riviere accepted the advice, and on Sun- 
 day, over the coffee, unburdened the tale to 
 Madame Chalice. Contrary to his expectations, 
 she laughed a great deal, then soothed his wounded 
 feelings, and counselled him as Medallion had 
 done. And because Valmond commanded the old 
 sergeant to silence, the matter ended for the mo- 
 ment. But it would have its hour yet, and Val- 
 mond knew this as well as the young Seigneur.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 I 
 
 T was no vain boast of Valmond's that he 
 would, or could, have five hundred followers in 
 two weeks. Lagroin and Parpon were busy, each 
 in his own way — Lagroin, open, bluff, impera- 
 tive ; Parpon, silent, acute, shrewd. Two days 
 before the feast of St. John the Baptist, the two 
 made a special tour through the parish for certain 
 recruits. If these could be enlisted, a great many 
 men of this and other parishes would follow. They 
 were Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the meal- 
 man, Lajeunesse the blacksmith, and Garotte the 
 limeburner, all men of note, after their kind, with 
 influence and individuality. 
 
 These four comrades were often to be found 
 together about the noon hour in the shop f 
 Jos€ Lajeunesse. They formed the coterie of the 
 humble, even as the Cure's coterie represented the 
 aristocracy of Pontiac — with Medallion as a con- 
 necting link. 
 
 Lagroin chafed that he must be recruiting ser- 
 geant and general also. But it gave him comfort 
 to remember that the Great Emperor had not at 
 times disdained to play the same role ; that, after 
 Friedland, he himself had been taken into the Old 
 Guard by the Emperor ; that Davoust had called
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 87 
 
 him brother ; that Ney had eaten supper and slept 
 with him under the same blanket. Parpon would 
 gladly have done this work alone, but he knew 
 that Lagroin in his regimentals would be useful. 
 
 Arches and poles were being put up to be deco- 
 rated against the feast-day, and piles of wood for 
 bonfires were arranged at points on the hills round 
 the village. Cheer and good-will were everywhere, 
 for a fine harvest was in view, and this feast-day 
 always brought gladness and simple revelling. 
 Parish interchanged with parish ; but, because it 
 was so remote, Pontiac was its own goal of pleas- 
 ure, and few fared forth, though others came from 
 Ville Bambord and elsewhere to join the fete. 
 As Lagroin and the dwarf approached to the door 
 of the smithy, they heard the loud laugh of La- 
 jeunesse. 
 
 "Good!" said Parpon. "Hear how he tears 
 his throat." 
 
 " If he has sense I'll make a captain of him," 
 reniarked Lagroin, consequentially. 
 
 "You shall beat him into a captain on his own 
 anvil," rejoined the little man. 
 
 They entered the shop. Lajeunesse was lean- 
 ing on his bellows, laughing, and holding an iron 
 in the spitting fire ; Muroc was seated on the edge 
 of the cooling tub, and Duclosse was resting on a 
 bag of his excellent meal ; Garotte was the only 
 missing member of the quartette. 
 
 Muroc was a wag, a grim sort of fellow, black 
 from his trade, with big rollicking eyes. At times
 
 88 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 he was not easy to please, but if he took a liking he 
 was for joking at once. He approved of Parpon, 
 and never lost a chance of sharpening his humor 
 on the dwarfs impish whetstone of a tongue. 
 
 " Lord ! Lord ! " he cried, with feigned awe, 
 getting to his feet at sight of the two. Then he 
 said to his comrades : " Children, children, off with 
 your hats. Here is Monsieur Talleyrand, if I'm 
 not mistaken. Onto your feet, mealman, and dust 
 your stomach. Lajeunesse, wipe your face with 
 your leather. Duck your heads, stupids ! " 
 
 With mock solemnity the three greeted Parpon 
 and Lagroin. The old sergeant's face flushed, and 
 his hand dropped to his sword ; but he had prom- 
 ised Parpon to say nothing till he got his cue, and 
 he would keep his word. So he disposed himself 
 in an attitude of martial attention. The dwarf 
 bowed to the others with a face of as great gravity 
 as the charcoalman's, and waving his hand said : 
 
 " Keep your seats, my children, and God be with 
 you. You are right, smutty-face ; I am Monsieur 
 Talleyrand, minister of the Crown." 
 
 "The devil, you say ! " cried the mealman. 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Lajeunesse, chaffing, " haven't 
 you heard the news ? The devil is dead 1 " 
 
 Parpon's hand went into his pocket. " My poor 
 orphan," said he, trotting over and thrusting some 
 silver into the blacksmith's pocket, " I see he 
 hasn't left you well off. Accept my humble gift." 
 
 "The devil dead! " cried Muroc, with a loud 
 guffaw ; " then I'll go marry his daughter now,"
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 89 
 
 The dwarf climbed up on a pile of untired 
 wheels, and, with an elfish grin, began singing. 
 Instantly the three humorists became silent, and 
 listened, the blacksmith pumping his bellows 
 mechanically the while. 
 
 " O mealman white, give me your daughter, 
 Oh, give her to me, your sweet Suzon ! 
 O mealman dear, you can do no better, 
 For I have a chateau at Malmaison. 
 
 " Black charcoalman, you shall not have her, 
 
 She shall not marry you, my Suzon — 
 A bag of meal and a sack of carbon ! 
 
 N'oji^ non, non, iion, non, non, non, }ion ! 
 Go look at your face, my faiifaron, 
 
 My daughter and you would be night and day. 
 
 Your face would frighten the crows away. 
 Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non. 
 
 You shall not marry her, my Suzon." 
 
 A better weapon than his waspish tongue was 
 Parpon's voice, for it, before all, was persuasive. A 
 few years before, none of them had ever heard him 
 sing. An accident discovered it, and afterwards 
 he sang for them but little, and never when it 
 was expected of him. He might be the minister 
 of a dauphin, or a fool, but he was now only the 
 mysterious Parpon who thrilled them. All the soul 
 cramped in the small body was showing in his 
 eyes, as on that day when he had sung at the 
 Louis Quinze. 
 
 A face, unseen by the others, suddenly appeared
 
 90 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 at a little door just opposite him. It belonged 
 to Madelinette, the daughter of Lajeunesse, who 
 had a voice of merit. More than once the dwarf 
 had stopped to hear her singing as he passed the 
 smithy. She sang only the old chansons and the 
 lays of the voyageurs, with a far greater sweet- 
 ness and richness, however, than any in the par- 
 ish ; and the Cure could detect her among all others 
 at mass. She had been taught her notes, but that 
 had only opened up possibilities, and fretted her 
 till she was unhappy. What she felt she could 
 not put into her singing, for the machinery, un- 
 known and tyrannical, was not hers. Twice be- 
 fore she had heard Parpon sing — at mass when the 
 miller's wife was buried, and he, forgetting the 
 world, had poured forth all his beautiful voice ; and 
 on that notable night on the veranda of the Louis 
 Ouinze. If he would but teach her those songs 
 of his, give her that sound of an organ in her 
 throat ! 
 
 Parpon guessed what she thought. Well, he 
 would see what could be done, if the blacksmith 
 would join Valmond's standard. 
 
 He stopped singing. 
 
 " That's as good as dear Caron, the vivandiere 
 of the Third Corps. Blood o' my body, I believe it's 
 better — almost ! " said Lagroin, nodding his head 
 patronizingly. " She dragged me from under the 
 mare of a damned Russian that cut me down, 
 before he got my bayonet in his liver. Caron ! 
 Caron ! ah, yes, brave Caron, my dear Caron ! "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 9I 
 
 said the old man, smiling through the golden light 
 that the song had made for him, as he looked 
 behind the curtain of the years. 
 
 Parpon's pleasant ridicule was not lost on the 
 charcoalman and the mealman, but neither was 
 the singing wasted, and their faces were touched 
 with admiration, while the blacksmith, with a 
 sigh, turned to his fire and blew the bellows 
 softly. 
 
 " Blacksmith," said Parpon, "you have a bird 
 that sings." 
 
 "I've no bird that sings like that, though she 
 has pretty notes, my bird." He sighed again. 
 "'Come, blacksmith,' said the Count Lassone, 
 when he came here a-fishing, 'that's a voice for a 
 palace,' said he. ' Take it out of the woods and 
 teach it,' said he, ' and it will have all Paris follow- 
 ing it.' That to me, a poor blacksmith, with only 
 my bread and sour milk, and a hundred dollars a 
 year or so, and a sup of brandy when I can get it." 
 
 The charcoalman spoke up. "You'll not forget 
 the indulgences folks give you more than the pay 
 for setting the dropped shoe — true gifts of God, 
 bought with good butter and eggs at the holy 
 auction, blacksmith. I gave you two myself. You 
 have your blessings, Lajeunesse." 
 
 "So, and no one to use the indulgences but you 
 and Madelinette, giant," said the fat mealman. 
 
 " Ay, thank the Lord, we've done well that way," 
 said the blacksmith, drawing himself up, for he 
 loved nothing better than to be called the giant,
 
 92 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 though he was known to many as petit enfant, in 
 irony of his size. 
 
 Lagroin was becoming impatient. He could not 
 see the drift of this, and he was about to whisper 
 to Parpon, when the little man sent him a look, 
 commanding silence, and he fretted on dumbly. 
 
 "See, my blacksmith," said Parpon, " your bird 
 shall be taught to sing, and to Paris she shall go 
 by and by." 
 
 " Such foolery ! " said Duclosse. 
 
 " What's in your noddle, Parpon ? " cried the 
 charcoalman. 
 
 The blacksmith looked at Parpon, his face all 
 puzzled eagerness, while another face at the door 
 grew pale with suspense. Parpon quickly turned 
 towards it. 
 
 "See here, Madelinette," he said in a low voice. 
 The girl stepped inside, and came to her father. 
 Lajeunesse's arm ran round her shoulder. There 
 was no corner of his heart into which she had not 
 crept. 
 
 "Out with it, Parpon," called the blacksmith, 
 hoarsely, for the daughter's voice had followed her- 
 self into those farthest corners of his rugged 
 nature. 
 
 " I will teach her to sing first ; she shall go to 
 Quebec, and afterwards to Paris, my friend," he 
 answered. 
 
 The girl's eyes were dilating with great joy. 
 " Ah, Parpon, good Parpon ! " she whispered. 
 
 " But Paris ! Paris ! There's gossip for you,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 93 
 
 thick as mortar," cried the charcoalman. and the 
 mealman's fingers beat a jeering tattoo on his 
 stomach. 
 
 Parpon waved his hand. " Look to the weevil 
 in your meal, Duclosse ; and you, smutty-face, leave 
 true things to your betters. Mind what I say, 
 blacksmith," he added, "she shall go to Quebec, 
 and after that to Paris." Here he got off the wheels 
 and stepped out into the centre of the shop. " Our 
 master will do that for you. I swear for him, and 
 who can say that Parpon was ever a liar ? " 
 
 The blacksmith's hand tightened on his daugh- 
 ter's shoulder. He was trembling with excitement. 
 
 "Is it true? Is it true?" he asked, and the 
 sweat stood out on his forehead. 
 
 " He sends this for Madelinette," answered the 
 dwarf, handing over a little bag of gold to the girl, 
 who drew back. But Parpon went close to her 
 and gently forced it into her hands. 
 
 "Open it," he said. She did so, and the black- 
 smith's eyes gloated on the gold. Muroc and Du- 
 closse drew near, and so they stood for a little 
 while, all looking and exclaiming. 
 
 Presently Lajeunesse scratched his head. " No- 
 body does nothing for nothing," said he. " What 
 horse do I shoe for this ? " 
 
 "La, la!" said the charcoalman, sticking a 
 thumb in the blacksmith's side, " you only give 
 him the happy hand — like that ! " 
 
 Duclosse was more serious. " It is the will of 
 God that you become a marshal or a duke," he
 
 94 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 said wheezingly. "You can't say no; it is the 
 will of God, and you must bear it like a man." 
 
 The child saw further ; perhaps the artistic strain 
 in her gave her keener reasoning. 
 
 " Father," she said, " Monsieur Valmond wants 
 you for a soldier." 
 
 "Wants me?" he roared in astonishment. 
 " Who's to shoe the horses a week days, and 
 throw the weight o' Sundays after mass ? Who's 
 to handle a stick for the Cur6 when there's fight- 
 ing among the river-men ? But, there, la, la ! 
 many a time my wife, my good Florienne, said to 
 me, ' Jose — Jose Lajeunesse, with a chest like yours, 
 you ought to be a corporal at least.' " 
 
 Parpon beckoned to Lagroin, and nodded. 
 
 "Corporal! corporal!" said Lagroin; "in a 
 week you shall be a lieutenant, and a month 
 shall make you a captain, and maybe better than 
 that ! " 
 
 " Better than that — bagosh ! " cried the char- 
 coalman, in surprise, proudly using the innocuous 
 English oath. 
 
 " Better than that ; sutler, maybe ? " said the 
 mealman, smacking his lips. 
 
 " Better than that," replied Lagroin, swelling 
 with importance. " Ay, ay, my dears, great 
 things are for you. I command the army, and 
 I have free hand from my master. Ah, what 
 joy to serve a Napoleon once again ! What joy ! 
 Lord, how I remember " 
 
 "Better than that — eh.?" persisted Duclosse,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 95 
 
 perspiring, the meal on his face making a sort of 
 paste. 
 
 "A general or a governor, my children," said 
 Lagroin. "First in, first served. Best men, best 
 pickings. But every man must love his chief, and 
 serve him with blood and bayonet, and march o' 
 nights if need, and limber up the guns if need, and 
 shoe a horse if need, and draw a cork if need, and 
 cook a potato if need, and be a hussar, or a tirail- 
 leur, or a trencher, or a general, if need. But yes, 
 that's it ; no pride but the love of France and the 
 cause, and " 
 
 "And Monsieur Valmond," said the charcoal- 
 man, slyly. 
 
 " And Monsieur the Emperor ! " cried Lagroin, 
 savagely. 
 
 He caught Parpon's eye, and instantly his hand 
 went to his pocket. 
 
 " Ah, he is a comrade, that ! Nothing is too 
 good for his friends, for his soldiers. See ! " he 
 added more calmly. 
 
 He took from his pocket ten gold pieces. 
 "'These are bagatelles,' said his Excellency to 
 me ; ' but tell my friends, Monsieur Muroc, and 
 Monsieur Duclosse, and Monsieur Lajeunesse, and 
 Monsieur Garotte, that they are buttons for the 
 coats of my sergeants, and that my captains' coats 
 have ten times as many buttons. Tell them,' said 
 he, ' that my friends shall share my fortunes ; that 
 France needs us ; that Pontiac shall be called the 
 nest of heroes. Tell them that I will come to
 
 96 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 them at nine o'clock to-night, and we will swear 
 fidelity." " 
 
 "And a damned good speech too — bagosh ! " 
 cried the mealman, his fingers hungering for the 
 gold pieces. 
 
 " We're to be captains pretty soon — eh ? " 
 asked Muroc. 
 
 " As quick as I've taught you to handle a com- 
 pany," answered Lagroin, with importance. 
 
 " I was a patriot in '37," said Muroc. " I went 
 against the English ; I held a bridge for two 
 hours. I have my musket yet." 
 
 "I am a patriot now," urged Duclosse. "Why 
 the devil not the English first, then go to France, 
 and lick the Bourbons !" 
 
 " They're a skittish lot, the Bourbons ; they 
 might take it in their heads to fight," suggested 
 Muroc, with a grin. 
 
 " What the devil do you expect ? " roared the 
 blacksmith, blowing the bellows hard in his excite- 
 ment, one arm still round his daughter's shoulder. 
 " D'you think we're going to play leap-frog into 
 the Tuileries ? There's blood to let, and we're to 
 let it ! " 
 
 "Good, my leeches!" cried the dwarf, "you 
 shall have blood to suck. But we'll leave the 
 English be. France first, then our dogs will take 
 a snap at the flag on the citadel yonder." He 
 nodded in the direction of Quebec. 
 
 Lagroin then put five gold pieces each in the 
 hands of Muroc and Duclosse, and said :
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 97 
 
 " I here take you into the service of Prince 
 Valmond Napoleon, and you do hereby swear to 
 serve him loyally, even to the shedding of your 
 blood, for his honor and the honor of France ; and 
 you do also vow to require a like loyalty and obe- 
 dience of all men under your command. Swear." 
 
 There was a slight pause, for the old man's 
 voice had the ring of a fatal earnestness. It was 
 no farce, but a real thing. 
 
 "Swear," he said again. "Raise your right 
 hand." 
 
 " Done ! " said Muroc. " To the devil with the 
 charcoal. I'll go wash my face." 
 
 " There's my hand on it," added Duclosse ; " but 
 that rascal Petrie will get my trade, and I'd rather 
 be strung by the Bourbons than that." 
 
 " Till I've no more wind in my bellows," 
 responded Lajeunesse, raising his hand, "if he 
 keeps faith with my Madelinette." 
 
 "On the honor of a soldier," said Lagroin, and 
 he crossed himself. 
 
 '' God save us all ! " cried Parpon. 
 
 Obeying a motion of the dwarf's hand, Lagroin 
 then drew from his pocket a flask of cognac, with 
 five little tin cups fitting into each other. Hand- 
 ing one to each, he poured them brimming full. 
 Filling his own, he spilled a little in the steely dust 
 of the smithy floor. All did the same, though they 
 knew not why. 
 
 " What's that for ?" asked the mealman. 
 
 "To show the Little Corporal, dear Corporal
 
 98 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Violet, and my comrades of the Old Guard, that 
 we don't forget them," cried Lagroin. 
 
 He drank slowly, holding his head far back, 
 and as he brought it straight again, he swung 
 on his heel, for two tears were racing down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 The mealman wiped his eyes in sympathy ; the 
 charcoalman shook his head at the blacksmith, as 
 though to say, " Poor devil ! " and Parpon straight- 
 way filled their glasses again. Madelinette took 
 the flask to the old sergeant. He looked at her 
 kindly, and patted her shoulder. Then he raised 
 his glass. 
 
 " Ah, the brave Caron, the dear Lucette Caron ! 
 Ah, the time she dragged me from under the 
 Russian mare ! " he said. He smiled into the 
 distance. " Who can tell ? Perhaps, perhaps — 
 again ! " 
 
 Then, all at once, as if conscious of the pitiful 
 humor of his meditations, he came to his feet, 
 straightened his shoulders, and cried : 
 
 " To her we love best ! " 
 
 The charcoalman drank and smacked his lips. 
 "Yes, yes," he said, looking into the cup admir- 
 ingly, "like mother's milk that! White of my 
 eye, but I do love her ! " 
 
 The mealman cocked his eye toward the open 
 door. " 6lise ! " he said sentimentally, and drank. 
 
 The blacksmith kissed his daughter, and his 
 hand rested on her head as he lifted the cup, but 
 he said never a word.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 99 
 
 Parpon took one sip, then poured his liquor 
 upon the ground, as though down there was what 
 he loved best ; but his eyes were turned to Dal- 
 grothe Mountain, which he could see through the 
 open door. 
 
 " France ! " cried the old soldier stoutly, and 
 tossed off the liquor.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Ti 
 
 HAT night Valmond and his three new re- 
 cruits, to whom Garotte the limeburner had been 
 added, met in the smithy and swore fealty to the 
 great cause. Lajeunesse, by virtue of his position 
 in the parish, and his former military experience, 
 was made a captain, and the others, sergeants of 
 companies yet unnamed and unformed. The 
 limeburner was a dry, thin man, of no particular 
 stature, who coughed a little between his sentences, 
 and had a habit, when not talking, of humming to 
 himself, as if in apology for his silence. This 
 humming had no sort of tune or purpose, and 
 was but a vague musical sputtering. He almost 
 perilled the gravity of the oath they all took to 
 Valmond, by this idiosyncrasy. His occupation 
 gave him a lean, arid look ; his hair was crisp and 
 straight, shooting out at all points, and it flew to 
 meet his cap as if it were alive. He was a genius 
 after a fashion, too, and at all the feasts and on 
 national holidays he invented some new feature 
 in the entertainments. With an eye for the gro- 
 tesque, he had formed a company of jovial blades, 
 called Kalathumpians, after the manner of the 
 mimes of old times in his beloved Dauphiny. 
 " All right, all right," he said, when Lagroin,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC lOI 
 
 in the half-lighted blacksmith shop, asked him to 
 swear allegiance and service. " ' Brigadier, vous 
 avez raison,' " he added, quoting a well-known 
 song. Then he hummed a little and coughed. 
 " We must have a show " — he hummed again — 
 "we must tickle 'em up a bit — ho! — touch "em 
 where they're silly with a fiddle and fife— raddy 
 dee dee, ra dee, ra dee, ra dee ! " Then, to Val- 
 mond, " We gave the fools who fought the Little 
 Corporal sour apples in Dauphiny, my dear !" 
 
 He followed this extraordinary speech with a plan 
 for making an ingenious coup for Valmond, when 
 his Kalathumpians paraded the streets on the 
 evening of St. John's Day. 
 
 With hands clasped the new recruits sang : 
 
 " When from the war we come, 
 
 A lions gai ! 
 Oh, when we ride back home, 
 it we be spared that day, 
 
 Ma liiron lurette, 
 We'll laugh our scars away. 
 
 Ma luron hi7-e. 
 We'll lift the latch and stay, 
 
 Ma luron lure." 
 
 The huge frame of the blacksmith, his love for 
 his daughter, his simple faith in this new creed of 
 patriotism, his tenderness of heart, joined to his 
 irascible disposition, spasmodic humor, and strong 
 arm, -roused in Valmond an immediate liking, 
 as keen, after its kind, as that he had for the Cure
 
 I02 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 and the avocat. With both of these he had had 
 long talks of late, on everything but purely personal 
 matters. They would have thought it a gross 
 breach of etiquette to question him on that which 
 he avoided. His admiration of them was com- 
 plete, although he sometimes laughed half sadly, 
 half whimsically, as he thought of their simple 
 faith in him. 
 
 At dusk on the eve of St. John the Baptist's Day, 
 after a long conference with Lagroin and Parpon, 
 Valmond went through the village, and came to 
 the smithy to talk with Lajeunesse. Those who 
 recognized him in passing took off their bonnets 
 rouges, some saying," Good night, your Highness," 
 some, " How are you, monseigneur ? " some, " God 
 bless your Excellency," and a batch of bacchana- 
 lian river-men, who had been drinking, called him 
 "General," and insisted on embracing him, offer- 
 ing him cognac from their tin flasks. 
 
 The appearance among them of old Madame 
 D^gardy shifted the good-natured attack. For 
 many a year, winter and summer, she had come 
 and gone in the parish, all rags and tatters, wear- 
 ing men's knee-boots and cap, her gray hair 
 hanging down in straggling curls, her lower lip 
 thrust out fiercely, her quick eyes wandering to 
 and fro, and her sharp tongue, like Parpon's, 
 clearing a path before her whichever way she 
 turned. On her arm she carried a little basket of 
 cakes and confitures, and these she dreamed she 
 sold, for they were few who bought of Crazy Joan.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I03 
 
 The Stout stick she carried was as compelling as 
 her tongue, so that when the river-men surrounded 
 her in amicable derision, it was used freely, and 
 with a heart all kindness — " for the good of their 
 souls," she said, "since the Cur^ was too mild, 
 Mary in heaven bless him high and low ! " 
 
 For Madame Degardy was the Cure's champion 
 everywhere, and he in turn was tender toward 
 the homeless body, whose history even to him was 
 obscure, save in the few particulars that he had 
 given to Valmond the last time they had met. 
 
 In her youth Madame Degardy was pretty and 
 much admired. Her lover had deserted her, and 
 in a fit of mad indignation and despair, she had 
 fled from the village, and vanished no one knew 
 whither, though it had been declared by a wander- 
 ing hunter that she had been seen in the far-off 
 hills that march into the south, and that she lived 
 there with an uncouth mountaineer, who had 
 himself long been an outlaw from his kind. But 
 this had been mere gossip, and after twenty-five 
 years she came back to Pontiac, a half-mad crea- 
 ture, and took up the thread of her life alone ; and 
 Parpon and the Curd saw that she suffered for 
 nothing in the hard winters. 
 
 Valmond left the river-men to the tyranny of her 
 tongue and stick, and came on to where the red 
 light of the forge showed through the smithy win- 
 dow. As he neared the door, he heard singing. 
 The voice was singularly sweet, and another of 
 commoner calibre was joining in the refrain ;
 
 I04 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " ' Oh, traveller, see where the red sparks rise. 
 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) 
 But dark is the mist in the traveller's eyes. 
 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) 
 ' Oh, traveller, see, far down the gorge, 
 The crimson light from my father's forge. 
 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) 
 
 '* ' Oh, traveller, see you thy true love's grace.' 
 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) 
 
 And now there is joy in the traveller's face. 
 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) 
 Oh, wild does he ride through the rain and mire, 
 To greet his love by the smithy fire ! 
 (Fly away, my heart, fly away !) " 
 
 In accompaniment some one was beating softly 
 on the anvil, and the bellows were blowing rhyth- 
 mically. He lingered for a moment, loath to in- 
 terrupt the song, and then softly opened the upper 
 half of the door, for it was divided horizontally, 
 and leaned over the lower part. 
 
 Beside the bellows, her sleeves rolled up, her 
 glowing face cowled in her black hair, beauti- 
 ful and strong, stood Elise Malboir, pushing a 
 rod of steel into the sputtering coals. Over the 
 anvil, with a small bar caught in a pair of tongs, 
 hovered Madelinette, beating, almost tenderly, the 
 red-hot point of the steel. The sound of the 
 iron hammer on the malleable metal was as muf- 
 fled silver, and the sparks flew out like jocund 
 fire-flies. She was making two hooks for her
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I05 
 
 kitchen wall, for she was clever at the forge, and 
 could shoe a horse if she were let to do so. She 
 was but half-turned to Valmond, but he caught the 
 pure outlines of her face and neck, her extreme 
 delicacy of expression, which had a subtle, pathetic 
 refinement, in acute contrast to the quick, abun- 
 dant health, the warm energy, the half-defiant 
 look of Elise. It was an inspiring picture of labor 
 and life. 
 
 A dozen thoughts ran through Valmond's mind. 
 He was responsible, to an extent, for the happi- 
 ness of these two young creatures. He had prom- 
 ised to make a songstress of the one, to send her 
 to Paris, had roused in her wild, ambitious hopes 
 of fame and fortune — dreams that, in any case, 
 could be little like the real thing : fanciful visions 
 of conquest and golden living, where never the 
 breath of her hawthorn and wild violets entered ; 
 only sick perfumes as from an odalisque's fan, amid 
 the enervating splendor of indulgent boudoirs — 
 for she had read of these things. 
 
 In a vague, graceless sort of way, he had 
 worked upon the quick emotions of Elise. Every 
 little touch of courtesy had been returned to him 
 in half-shy, half-ardent glances ; in flushes which 
 the kiss he had given her the first day of their 
 meeting had made the signs of an intermittent 
 fever ; in modest yet alluring waylayings ; in rest- 
 less nights, in half-tuneful, half-silent days ; in a 
 sweet sort of petulance. She had kept in mind 
 everything he had said to her, the playfully emo-
 
 Io6 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 tional pressure of her hand, his eloquent talks with 
 her uncle, the old sergeant's rhapsodies about him ; 
 and there was no place in the room where he had 
 sat or stood, which she had not made sacred — 
 she the madcap, who had lovers by the dozen. 
 Importuned by the Cur^ and her mother to 
 marry, she had threatened, if they worried her 
 further, to wed fat Duclosse, the mealman, who 
 had courted her in a ponderous way for at least 
 three years. 
 
 The fire that corrodes, when it does not make 
 glorious without and within, was in her veins, and 
 when Valmond should call she was ready to come. 
 She could not see that if he were in truth a 
 Napoleon, she was not for him. Seized of that 
 wilful, daring spirit, called Love, her sight was 
 bounded by the little field wherein she strayed. 
 
 Her arm paused upon the lever of the bellows, 
 as she saw Valmond watching them from the 
 door. He took off his hat to them, as Madelinette 
 turned and said impulsively, " Ah, monseigneur !" 
 then waited, confused. 6lise did not move, but 
 stood looking at him, her eyes all flame, her 
 cheeks going a little pale, and flushing again. 
 She pushed her hair back with a quick motion, 
 and as he stepped inside and closed the door be- 
 hind him, she blew the bellows as if to give a 
 brighter light to the place. The fire flared up, 
 but there were corners in deep shadow. Val- 
 mond doffed his hat again and said ceremoniously, 
 " Mademoiselle Lajeunesse, Mademoiselle Elise,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 07 
 
 pray do not stop your work. Let me sit here and 
 watch you." 
 
 Taking from his pocket a cigarette, he came 
 over to the forge, and was about to hght it with 
 the red steel from the fire, when Elise, snatching 
 up a tiny piece of wood, thrust it in the coals, and 
 drawing it out held it toward the cigarette, say- 
 ing : " Ah, no, your Excellency — this ! " 
 
 As Valmond reached to take it from her, he 
 heard a sound as of a hoarse breathing, coming 
 from the shadowy corner behind him, and turned 
 quickly; his outstretched hand touched ^^lise's 
 fingers, and closed on them involuntarily, all her 
 impulsive temperament and ardent life thrilling 
 through him. The shock of feeling brought his 
 eyes to hers with a sudden burning mastery. For 
 an instant their looks fused and were lost in a pas- 
 sionate affiance. Then, as if pulling himself out 
 of a dream, he released her fingers with a, " Par- 
 don — my child." 
 
 As he did so, a cry ran through the smithy. 
 Madelinette was standing, tense and set with 
 terror, her eyes riveted on something that crouched 
 beside a pile of cartwheels a few feet away ; some- 
 thing with shaggy head, flaring eyes, and a devilish 
 face. The thing raised itself and sprang towards 
 her with a devouring cry. Leaping forward with 
 desperate swiftness, Valmond caught the half 
 man, half beast — it seemed that — by the throat ; 
 and Madelinette fell fainting against the anvil. 
 
 Valmond was in the grasp of a giant, and,
 
 Io8 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Struggle as he might, he could not withstand the 
 powerful arms of his assailant. They came to 
 their knees on the ground, where they clutched 
 and strained for a wild minute, Valmond desper- 
 ately fighting to keep the huge bony fingers from 
 his neck. Suddenly the creature's knee touched 
 the red-hot steel that Madelinette had dropped, 
 and with a snarl he flung Valmond back against 
 the anvil, his head striking the iron with a sicken- 
 ing thud. Then, seizing the steel, he raised it to 
 plunge the still glowing point into his victim's eyes. 
 
 Centuries of doom seemed crowded into that in- 
 stant of time. Valmond caught the giant's wrist 
 with both hands, and with a mighty effort wrenched 
 himself aside. His heart seemed to strain and 
 burst, and just as he felt the end was come, he 
 heard something crash on the murderer's skull, 
 and the great creature fell with a gurgling sound, 
 and lay like a parcel of loose bones across his 
 knees. Valmond raised himself, a strange, dull 
 wonder on him, for as the weapon smote this life- 
 less thing, he had seen another hurl by and 
 strike the opposite wall. A moment afterwards 
 the dead man was pulled away by Parpon. Try- 
 ing to rise, he felt blood trickling down his neck, 
 and he turned sick and blind. As the world 
 slipped away from him, a soft shoulder caught his 
 head, and out of a great distance there came to 
 him a woman's wailing cry : " He is dying ! my 
 love ! my love ! " 
 
 Peril and pain had brought to ^lise's breast
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC IO9 
 
 the one being in the world for her, the face that 
 had burned like a picture upon her eyes and heart. 
 
 Parpon groaned with a strange horror as he 
 dragged the body from Valmond. For a moment 
 he knelt gasping beside the uncouth form, his 
 great hands spasmodically feeling the pulseless 
 breast. 
 
 Soon afterwards in the blacksmith's house the 
 two girls huddled together in each other's arms, 
 and Valmond, shaken and weak, returned to the 
 smithy. 
 
 In the dull glare of the forge fire knelt Parpon, 
 rocking back and forth beside the body. Hearing 
 him approach, the dwarf got to his feet. 
 
 " You have killed him," he said, pointing. 
 
 " No, no, not I," answered Valmond. "Some- 
 one threw a hammer." 
 
 " There were two hammers." 
 
 " It was ^lise ? " asked Valmond, with a shud- 
 der. 
 
 " No, not Elise ; it was you," said the dwarf, 
 with a strange insistence. 
 
 "I tell you no," said Valmond. " It was you, 
 Parpon." 
 
 " By God ! it is a lie ! " cried the dwarf, with a 
 groan. Then he came close to Valmond. " He 
 was — my brother ! Do you not see ? " he de- 
 manded fiercely, his eyes full of misery. " Do 
 you not see, that it was you who killed him ? 
 Yes, yes, it was you." 
 
 Stooping, Valmond caught the little man in an
 
 no WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 embrace. " It was I that killed him, Parpon. It 
 was I, comrade. You saved my life," he added 
 significantly. 
 
 " The girl threw, but missed," said the dwarf. 
 " She does not know but that she struck him." 
 
 " She must be told." 
 
 " I will tell her that you killed him. Leave it 
 to me — all to me, my grand seigneur ! " 
 
 A half hour afterwards the avocat, the Cur6, the 
 Little Chemist, had heard the story as the dwarf 
 told it, and Valmond returned to the Louis 
 Quinze a hero. For hours the habitants gathered 
 under his window and cheered him. 
 
 Parpon sat long in gloomy silence by his side, 
 but at last, raising his voice, he began to sing 
 softly a lament for the lifeless body, lying alone in 
 a shed near the deserted smithy. 
 
 " Children, the house is empty, 
 The house behind the tall hill ; 
 Lonely and still is the empty house. 
 There is no face in the doorway, 
 There is no fire in the chimney. 
 Come and gather beside the gate, 
 Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills. 
 Where has the wild dog vanished ? 
 Where has the swift foot gone ? 
 Where is the hand that found the good fruit, 
 That made a garret of wholesome herbs ? 
 Where is the voice that awoke the morn. 
 The tongue that defied the terrible beasts ? 
 Come and listen beside the door, 
 Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills."
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC III 
 
 The pathos of the chant almost made his lis- 
 tener shrink, so immediate and searching was it. 
 When the lament ceased there was a long silence, 
 broken by Valmond. 
 
 " He was your brother, Parpon — how ? Tell 
 me about it." 
 
 The dwarfs eyes looked into the distance. 
 
 " It was in the far-off country," he said, " in 
 the hills where the Little Good Folk come. My 
 mother married an outlaw. Ah, he was cruel, 
 and an animal ! My brother Gabriel was born 
 — a giant, with brain all fumbling and wild. 
 Then I was born, so small, a head as a tub, and 
 long arms like a gorilla. We burrowed in the 
 hills, Gabriel and I. Then one day my mother, 
 because my father struck her, went mad, left us, and 
 came to — " He paused abruptly. "Then Gabriel 
 struck the man, and he died, and we buried him, 
 and my brother also left me, and I was alone. 
 Bye and bye I travelled to Pontiac. Once Gabriel 
 came down from the hills, and Lajeunesse burnt 
 him with a hot iron, for cutting his bellows 
 in the night, to make himself a bed inside 
 them. To-day he came again to do some ter- 
 rible thing to the blacksmith or the girl, and you 
 have seen — ah, the poor Gabriel, and I killed 
 him ! " 
 
 "I killed him," said Valmond, "I, Parpon, my 
 friend." 
 
 " My poor fool, my wild dog," wailed the dwarf, 
 mournfully.
 
 112 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " Parpon," asked Valmond, suddenly, "where 
 is your mother ? " 
 
 "It is no matter. She has forgotten — she is 
 safe." 
 
 "If she should see him ! " said Valmond, tenta- 
 tively, for a sudden thought had come to him that 
 the mother of these misfits of God was Madame 
 D6gardy. 
 
 Parpon sprang to his feet. " She shall not see 
 him. Ah, you know ! You have guessed ? " he 
 cried. 
 
 " She is all safe with me." 
 
 "She shall not see him. She shall not know," 
 repeated the dwarf, his eyes huddling back in his 
 head with anguish. 
 
 " Does she not remember you ? " 
 
 " She does not remember the living, but she 
 would remember the dead. She shall not know," 
 he cried again. 
 
 Then seizing Valmond's hand, he kissed it, and, 
 without a word, trotted from the room, a ludi- 
 crously pathetic figure.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN OW and again the moon showed through the 
 cloudy night, and the air was soft and l<ind. Par- 
 pen left behind him the village street, and after 
 a half mile or more of travel came to a spot 
 where a crimson light showed beyond a little hill. 
 He halted a moment, as if to think and listen, 
 then crawled swiftly up the bank and looked 
 down. Beside a still smoking lime-kiln, an aban- 
 doned fire was burning down into red coals. The 
 little hut of the limeburner was beyond in a hollow, 
 and behind that again was a lean-to, like a small 
 shed or stable. Hither stole the dwarf, pausing on 
 his way to listen a moment at the door of the hut. 
 
 Leaning into the darkness of the shed he gave 
 a soft crooning call. A low growl came in quick 
 reply, followed by others. He stepped inside. 
 
 " Good dogs, good dogs, good Musket, Coffee, 
 Filthy, Jo-Jo — steady, steady, idiots ! " for the 
 huge brutes were nosing him, throwing them- 
 selves against him, and whining gratefully. Feel- 
 ing against the wall he took down some harness, 
 and in the dark put a set on each dog — mere straps 
 for the shoulders, halters and traces; called to them 
 sharply to be quiet, and, keeping hold of their col- 
 8
 
 114 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 lars, led them out into the night. He paused to 
 listen again. Presently he drove the dogs across 
 the road, and attached them to a flat vehicle with- 
 out wheels or runners, used by Garotte for the 
 drawing of lime and stones. It was not so heavy 
 as many machines of the kind, and at a quick 
 word from the dwarf, the dogs darted away. Un- 
 seen, a mysterious figure hurried on after them, 
 keeping well in the shadow of the trees fringing the 
 side of the road. 
 
 Parpon drove the dogs down a lonely side lane 
 to the village, and came to the shed where lay the 
 uncouth thing, which he had called his brother. 
 He felt for a spot where there was a loose board, 
 forced it and another with his strong fingers, and 
 crawled in. Reappearing, with the body, he 
 bore it in his huge arms to the stone-boat : a 
 midget carrying a giant — a dreadful burden. He 
 covered up the face, and returning to the shed, 
 placed his coat against the boards to deaden the 
 sound, and hammered them tight again with a 
 stone, after having straightened the grass about. 
 He found the dogs cowering with a nameless fear, 
 for one of them had pushed the cloth off the dead 
 man's face with his nose. They crouched together, 
 whining and tugging at the traces. With a quiet- 
 ing word he started them away. 
 
 The pursuing watchful figure followed at a dis- 
 tance, on up the road, on over the little hills, on 
 .into the high hills, the dogs carrying along swiftly 
 the grisly load. And once their driver halted
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC II5 
 
 them, and sat in the gray gloona and dust beside 
 the dead man. 
 
 "Where do you go, dwarf?" he said aloud. 
 
 " I go to the Ancient House," he made answer 
 to himself. 
 
 " What do you go to get ? " 
 
 " I do not go to get, I go to give." 
 
 " What do you go to give .'' " 
 
 " I go to leave an empty basket at the door, and 
 the lantern that the Shopkeeper set in the hand of 
 the pedler." 
 
 " Who is the pedler, hunchback .? " 
 
 "The pedler is he that carries the pack on his 
 back." 
 
 " What carries he in the pack ? " 
 
 " He carries what the Shopkeeper gave him — 
 for he had no money and no choice." 
 
 " Who is the Shopkeeper, dwarf ? " 
 
 " The Shopkeeper — the Shopkeeper is the father 
 of dwarfs, and angels, and children, — and fools." 
 
 " What does he sell, poor man ? " 
 
 " He sells harness for men and cattle, and you 
 give your lives for the harness." 
 
 " What is this you carry, dwarf ? " 
 
 " I carry home the harness of a soul." 
 
 " Is it worth carrying home ? " 
 
 " The eyes grow sick at sight of the old harness 
 in the way." 
 
 And the watching figure heard and pitied. It 
 was Valmond. Excited by Parpon's last words 
 at the hotel, he had followed, and though suffer-
 
 Il6 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 ing from the wound in his head, and shaken by 
 the awful accident of the evening, he was keen to 
 chase this weird adventure to the end. For, as he 
 said to himself, some things were to be seen but 
 once in the great game, and it was worth while 
 seeing them, even if life were the shorter for it. 
 
 On, and ever upward, filed the strange proces- 
 sion, until at last they came to Dalgrothe Moun- 
 tain. On one of its foot-hills stood the Rock of 
 Red Pigeons. This was the dwarfs secret resort, 
 and no one ever disturbed him, for it was said the 
 Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills (of whom, 
 it was rumored, he had come) held revel there, 
 and people did not venture rashly. The land 
 about it, and a hut farther down the hill, belonged 
 to him, a legacy from the father of the young 
 Seigneur. 
 
 It was all hills, gorges, and rivers, and idle 
 murmuring pines. Of a morning, mist floated 
 into mist as far as eye could see, blue and gray and 
 amethyst, a glamour of tints and velvety radiance. 
 The great hills waved into each other like a vast 
 violet sea, and, in turn, the tiny earth-waves on 
 each separate hill swelled into the larger har- 
 mony. At the foot of a steep precipice was the 
 whirlpool from which Parpon had saved the father 
 of De la Riviere from an awful death, and had 
 received this lonely region as his reward. To 
 the dwarf it was his other world, his real world ; 
 for here he lived his own life, and it was here he 
 had brought his ungainly dead, to give it housing.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC II7 
 
 The dogs drew up the grim cargo to a plateau 
 near the Rock of Red Pigeons, and gathering 
 sticks, Parpon Ht a sweet-smelling fire of cedar. 
 Then he went to the hut, and came back with a 
 spade and shovel. At the foot of a great pine he 
 began to dig. As the work went on he broke into 
 a sort of dirge, painfully sweet. Leaning against 
 a rock not far away, Valmond watched the tiny 
 man with the great arms throw up the soft, good- 
 smelling earth, enriched by centuries of dead 
 leaves and flowers. The trees waved, and bent, 
 and murmured as though they gossiped with each 
 other over this odd grave-digger. The light of 
 the fire showed across the gorge, touching off the 
 far wall of pines with burnished crimson, and huge 
 flickering shadows looked like elusive spirits, 
 attendant on the lonely obsequies. Now and then 
 a bird, aroused by the light or the snapping of a 
 burning stick, rose from its nest and flew away ; 
 and wild fowl flitted darkly down the pass, like 
 the souls of heroes faring to Walhalla. When an 
 owl hooted, a wolf howled far off, or a loon cried 
 from the water below, the solemn fantasy took on 
 the aspect of the unreal. 
 
 Valmond watched like one in a dream, and 
 once or twice he turned faint and drew his cloak 
 about him, as if he were cold, for a sickly air, 
 passing by, seemed to fill his lungs with poison. 
 
 At last the grave was dug, and sprinkling its 
 depth with leaves and soft branches of spruce, 
 the dwarf drew the body over, and lowered it
 
 Il8 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 slowly and awkwardly. Then he covered all but 
 the huge, unsightly face, and kneeling, peered 
 down at it pitifully. 
 
 "Gabriel, Gabriel," he cried, "surely thy 'soul 
 is better without its harness. I killed thee, and 
 thou didst kill, and those we love die by our own 
 hands. But, no, I lie ; I did not love thee, thou 
 wert so ugly, and wild, and cruel. Poor boy ! 
 Thou wast a fool, and — hush ! thou wast a mur- 
 derer. Thou wouldst have slain my prince, and 
 so I slew thee — I slew thee ! " 
 
 He rocked to and fro in abject sorrow: "Hast 
 thou no one in all the world to mourn thee save 
 him who killed thee ? Is there no one to wish thee 
 speed to the Ancient House ? Art thou tossed 
 away like an old shoe, and no one to say. The 
 Shoemaker that made thee must see to it if thou 
 wast illshapen, and walked crookedly, and did evil 
 things ? Ah ! is there no one to mourn thee, save 
 him that killed thee ? " 
 
 He leaned back, crying out into the great hills 
 like a remorseful, tortured soul. 
 
 Valmond, no longer able to watch his grief in 
 silence, stepped quickly forward. The dogs, see- 
 ing him, growled warningly, and the dwarf looked 
 up as he heard the footsteps. 
 
 "There is another to mourn him, Parpon," 
 said Valmond. 
 
 A look of bewilderment and joy came into 
 Parpon's eyes. Then he gave a laugh of singular 
 wildness, his face twitched, tears rushed down his
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC II9 
 
 cheeks, and he threw himself at Valmond's feet 
 and clasped his knees, crying : 
 
 " Ah, ah, my prince, great brother, thou hast 
 come also ! Ah, thou didst know the way up the 
 long hill ! Thou hast come to the burial of a fool. 
 But he had a mother — ay, ay, a mother ! All fools 
 have mothers, and they should be buried well. 
 Ah, come, come, and speak softly the Act of Con- 
 trition, and I will cover him up." 
 
 He went to throw in the earth, but Valmond 
 pushed him aside gently. 
 
 " No, no," he said, " this is for me." And he 
 began filling the grave. 
 
 When they left the place of burial the fire was 
 burning low, for they had talked long. At the 
 foot of the hills they looked back. Day was begin- 
 ning to break over Dalgrothe Mountain.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 W, 
 
 HEN, next day, in the bright sunlight, the 
 Little Chemist, the Cure, and others, opened the 
 door of the shed, taking off their hats in the pres- 
 ence of the Master Workman, they saw that his 
 seat was empty. The dead Caliban was gone — 
 who should say how or where ? The lock was 
 still on the doors, the walls were intact, there was 
 no window for entrance or escape. He had van- 
 ished as weirdly as he came. 
 
 All day the people sought the place, viewing 
 with awe and superstition the place where the 
 body had lain, and the spot in the smithy where, 
 it was said, Valmond had killed the giant. 
 
 The next day was the feast of St. John the Bap- 
 tist. Mass was said in the church, all the parish 
 attending ; and Valmond was present, with La- 
 groin in full regimentals. 
 
 Plates of blessed bread were passed round at 
 the close of the mass, as was the custom on this 
 feast-day ; and with a curious feeling that came to 
 him often afterward, Valmond listened to his gen- 
 eral saying solemnly : 
 
 " Holy bread, I take thee ; 
 If I die suddenly, 
 Serve me as a sacrament."
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 121 
 
 With many eyes watching him curiously, he also 
 ate the bread, and repeated the mystical words. 
 
 All day long there were sports and processions, 
 the habitants gay in rosettes and ribbons, flowers 
 and maple-leaves, as they idled or filed along the 
 streets, under arches of evergreens, where the 
 tricolor and union jack, amiably mingled and flut- 
 tered together. Anvils, with powder placed be- 
 tween, were touched off" with a bar of red-hot iron, 
 making a vast noise, and drawing crowds in front 
 of the smithy. On the hill beside the Cure's house 
 was a little old cannon brought from the battle- 
 field of Ticonderoga, and its boisterous salutations 
 were replied to from the Seigneury, by a still more 
 ancient piece of ordnance. Sixty of Valmond's 
 recruits, under Lajeunesse the blacksmith, marched 
 up and down the streets firing salutes with happy 
 intrepidity, and setting themselves off" before the 
 crowds with a good many airs, and nods, and 
 simple vanities. 
 
 In the early evening, the good Cur6 blessed and 
 lighted the great bonfire before the church, and 
 immediately, at this signal, an answering fire 
 sprang up on a hill at the other side of the village. 
 Then fire on fire rose up at all points, and multi- 
 plied, till all of Pontiac was in a glow. This was 
 a custom set in memory of the old days when fires 
 flashed intelligence, after a set code, across the 
 great rivers and lakes, and from hill to hill. 
 
 Far up against Dalgrothe Mountain appeared a 
 sumptuous star, mystical and red. Valmond saw
 
 122 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 it from his window, and knew it to be Parpon's 
 watch-fire, by the grave of his brother Gabriel. 
 
 The chief procession started with the lighting of 
 the bonfires. Singing softly, choristers and aco- 
 lytes in robes, preceded the Cur^, and devout be- 
 lievers and youths on horsebacl< with ribbons fly- 
 ing, carried banners and shrines. Marshals kept 
 the lines steady, and four were in constant attend- 
 ance on a gorgeous carriage, all gilt and carving 
 (the heirloom of the parish), in which reclined the 
 figure of a handsome lad, impersonating John the 
 Baptist, with long golden hair, dressed in rich 
 robes and skins— a sceptre in his hand, a snowy 
 lamb at his feet. The rude symbolism was soft- 
 ened and toned to an almost poetical refinement, 
 and gave to the harmless revels a touch of Arcady. 
 
 After this semi-religious procession, nightfall 
 brought the march of Garotte's Kalathumpians. 
 They were carried on three long drays, each 
 drawn by four horses, half of them white, half 
 black. They were an outlandish crew of come- 
 dians, dressed after no pattern, save the absurd — 
 clowns, satyrs, kings, soldiers, imps, barbarians. 
 Many had hideous false faces, and a few horribly 
 tall skeletons had heads of pumpkins with lighted 
 candles inside. The marshals were pierrots and 
 clowns on long stilts, who towered in a ghostly 
 way above the crowd. They were cheerful, fan- 
 tastic revellers, singing the maddest and silliest of 
 songs, with singular refrains and repetitions. 
 
 They stopped at last in front of the Louis Quinze.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 23 
 
 The windows of Valmond's chambers were alight, 
 and to one a staff was fastened. Suddenly the 
 Kalathumpians quieted where they stood, for the 
 voice of their leader, a sort of fat king of Yvetot, 
 cried out : 
 
 "See there, my noisy children!" It was the 
 inventive limeburner who spoke. "What come 
 you here for, my rollicking blades ? " 
 
 "We are a long way from home ; we are look- 
 ing for our brother, your Majesty," they cried in 
 chorus. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! What is your brother like, jolly 
 dogs ? " 
 
 " He has a face of ivory, and eyes like torches, 
 and he carries a silver sword." 
 
 " But what the devil is his face like ivory for, 
 my fanfarons ? '' 
 
 " So that he shall not blush for us. He is a 
 grand seigneur," they shouted back. 
 
 "Why are his eyes like torches, my raga- 
 muffins ? " 
 
 " To show us the way home." 
 
 Valmond appeared upon the balcony. 
 
 "What is it you wish, my comrades?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Brother," said the fantastic leader, "we've 
 lost our way. Will you lead us home again ? " 
 
 "It is a long travel," he answered, after the 
 fashions of their own symbols. " There are high 
 hills to climb ; there may be wild beasts in the 
 way, and storms come down the mountains."
 
 124 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 "We have strong hearts, and you have a silver 
 sword, brother." 
 
 " I cannot see your faces, to know if you are 
 true, my children," he answered. 
 
 Instantly the clothes flew off, masks fell, pump- 
 kins came crashing to the ground, the stilts of the 
 marshals dropped, and thirty men stood upon 
 the drays in crude military order, with muskets 
 in their hands, and cockades in their caps. At 
 that moment also, a flag — the tricolor — flut- 
 tered upon the staff out of Valmond's window. 
 The roll of a drum came out of the street some- 
 where, and presently the people fell back before 
 sixty armed men marching in columns, under 
 Lagroin, while from the opposite direction came 
 Lajeunesse with sixty others, silent all, till they 
 reached the drays, and formed round them slowly. 
 
 Valmond stood motionless watching, and the 
 people were very still, for this seemed like real life, 
 and no comedy. Some of the soldiery had mili- 
 tary clothes, old militia uniforms, or the rebel 
 trappings of '37 ; others, less fortunate, wore their 
 trousers in long boots, their coats buttoned lightly 
 over their chests, and belted in ; and the Napo- 
 leonic cockade was in every cap. 
 
 "My children," said Valmond at last, "I see 
 that your hearts are strong, and that you have the 
 bodies of true men. We have sworn fealty to 
 each other, and the badge of our love is in your 
 caps. Let us begin our journey home. I will 
 come down among you. I will come down among
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I25 
 
 you, and I will lead you from Pontiac to the sea, 
 gathering comrades as we go, then across the sea 
 to France, then to Paris and the Tuileries, where 
 the Bourbons usurp the place of a Napoleon." 
 
 He descended and mounted his waiting horse. 
 At that moment Monsieur de la Riviere appeared 
 on the balcony, and, stepping forward, said : 
 
 " My friends, do you know what you are doing ? 
 This is folly. This man " 
 
 He got no further, for Valmond raised his hand 
 to Lagroin, and the drums began to beat. Then 
 he rode down in front of Lajeunesse's men, the 
 others sprang from the drays and fell into place, 
 and soon the little army was marching, four deep, 
 through the village. 
 
 This was the official beginning of Valmond's 
 quest for empire. The people had a phrase, and 
 they had a man ; and they saw no further than the 
 hour. 
 
 As they filed past the house of ^lise Malboir, 
 the girl stood in the glow of a bonfire, beside the 
 oven where Valmond had first seen her. All 
 around her was the wide awe of night, enriched 
 by the sweet perfume of a coming harvest. He 
 doflFed his hat to her, then to the tricolor, which 
 Lagroin had fastened on a tall staff before the 
 house. Elise did not stir, did not courtesy or 
 bow, but stood silent— entranced. For she was 
 in a dream. This man riding at the head of the 
 simple villagers was part of her vision, and, at 
 the moment, she did not rouse from the ecstasy
 
 126 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 of reverie where her new-born love had led 
 her. 
 
 For Valmond the picture had a moving power. 
 He heard again her voice crying in the smithy : 
 " He is dying ! Oh. my love ! my love ! " 
 
 He was now in the heart of a fantastic adventure. 
 Filled with its spirit, he would carry it bravely to 
 the end, enjoying every step in it, comedy or trag- 
 edy. Yet all day, since he had eaten the holy 
 bread, there had been ringing in his ears the 
 
 words : 
 
 " Holy bread, I take thee ; 
 If I die suddenly, 
 Serve me as a sacrament." 
 
 It came home to him, at the instant, what a mad 
 chance it all was. What was he doing ? No 
 matter — it was all a game, in which nothing was 
 sure — nothing save this girl. She would, he 
 knew, with the abandon of an absorbing passion, 
 throw all things away for him. 
 
 Such as Madame Chalice — Ah, she was a part 
 of this brave fantasy, this dream of empire, this 
 splendid play ! But Elise Malboir was actuality 
 itself, true, absolute, abiding. His nature swam 
 gloriously in this daring comedy ; he believed in it, 
 he sank himself in it with a joyous recklessness ; it 
 was his victory or his doom. But it was a shake 
 of the dice — had Fate loaded them against him ? 
 
 He looked up the hill toward the Manor. Life 
 was there in its essence ; beauty, talent, the genius 
 of the dreamer, like his own. But it was not for
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 127 
 
 him ; dauphin or fool, it was not for him. Ma- 
 dame Chalice endured him for some talent he had 
 shown, for the apparent sincerity of his love for the 
 cause, but that was all. She was his inquisitor, but 
 not his enemy. Yet she was ever in this dream 
 of his, and he felt that she would always be ; the 
 unattainable, the undeserved, more splendid than 
 the cause itself, that for which he would give — 
 what would he give ? Time would show. 
 
 But ifelise Malboir, abundant, true, fine, in the 
 healthy vigor of her nature, with no dream in her 
 heart but love fulfilled — she was no part of his 
 adventure, but of that vital spirit which can bring 
 to the humblest as to the highest the good reality 
 of life.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IT was the poignancy of these feelings which, 
 later, drew Valmond to the ashes of the fire in 
 whose glow Elise had stood. The village was 
 quieting down, the excited habitants had scattered 
 to their homes. But in one or two houses there 
 was dancing, and, as he passed, Valmond had 
 heard the chansons of the humble games they 
 played — primitive games, primitive chansons : 
 
 " In my right hand I hold a rose-bush, 
 Which will bloom, Manon Ion la ! 
 Which will bloom in the month of May. 
 Come into our dance, pretty rose-bush, 
 Come and kiss, Manon Ion la ! 
 Come and kiss whom you love best ! " 
 
 The ardor, the delight, the careless joy of youth 
 were in the song and in the dance. These sim- 
 ple folk would marry, beget children, labor hard, 
 obey Mother Church, and yield up the ghost peace- 
 fully in the end, after their kind ; but now and 
 then there was born among them one not after 
 their kind : even such as Madelinette Lajeunesse, 
 with the stirring of talent in her veins, and the 
 visions of the artistic temperament, — delight and 
 curse all at once, — that lifted her out of the life, 
 lonely, and yet sorrowfully happy.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 29 
 
 Valmond looked around. How still and peace- 
 ful it was, the home of jfelise standing apart in the 
 quiet fields! The moon was lying off above the 
 edge of mountains, looking out on the world com- 
 placently, as an indulgent janitor scans the sleepy 
 street from his doorway. But involuntarily his eyes 
 were drawn to the hill beyond, where showed a 
 light in a window of the Manor. To-morrow he 
 would go there : he had much to say to Madame 
 Chalice. 
 
 He was abruptly drawn from his meditations by 
 the entrance of Lagroin into the little garden. He 
 followed the old man through the open doorway. 
 All was dark, but as they stepped within they 
 heard some one move ; presently a match was 
 struck, and Elise stepped forward with a candle 
 raised level with her dusky head. Lagroin looked 
 at her in indignant astonishment. 
 
 "Do you not see who is here, girl?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Your Excellency," she said confusedly to Val- 
 mond, and, bowing, offered him a chair. 
 
 "You must pardon her, sire," said the old ser- 
 geant. " She has never been taught, and she's a 
 wayward wench." 
 
 Valmond waved his hand. " Nonsense, we are 
 friends. You are my general, she is your niece." 
 His eyes followed her as she set out some cider 
 for them, a small flask of cognac, and some seed- 
 cakes ; luxuries which were served but once a 
 year in this house, as in most homes of Pontiac. 
 9
 
 I30 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 For a long time Valmond and Lagroin talked, 
 devised, planned, schemed, till the old man grew 
 husky and pale, and the sight of his senile weari- 
 ness flashed the irony of the whole wild dream into 
 Valmond's mind. He rose, and giving his arm, 
 he led Lagroin to his bedroom, and bade him good- 
 night. When he returned to the room it was 
 empty. 
 
 He looked around, and, seeing an open door, 
 stepped to it quickly. It led into a little stairway. 
 
 He remembered then that there was a room 
 which had been, apparently, tacked on, like an 
 afterthought, to the end of the house. Seeing the 
 glimmer of a light beyond, he went up a few steps, 
 and came face to face with Elise, who, candle 
 in hand, was about to descend the stairs again. 
 
 For a moment she stood quite still, then placed 
 the candle on the rude little dressing-table, built 
 of dry-goods boxes, and draped in fresh muslin. 
 Valmond took in every detail of the chamber in a 
 single glance. It was very simple and neat, with 
 its small wooden bedstead corded with rope, the 
 poor hickory rocking-chair, the flaunting chrome 
 of the Holy Family, the sprig of blessed palm, the 
 shrine of the Virgin, the print skirts hanging on 
 the wall, the stockings lying across a chair, the bits 
 of ribbon on the bed. The quietness, the allur- 
 ing simplicity, the whole room filled with the rich 
 presence of the girl, sent a flood of color to Val- 
 mond's face, and his heart beat hard. Curiosity 
 only, had led him into the room, something more
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 13I 
 
 vital held him there. Elise seemed to read his 
 thoughts, and, taking up her candle, she moved 
 toward the doorway. Neither had spoken. As 
 she was about to pass him, he suddenly touched 
 her arm. Glancing toward the window, he noticed 
 that the blind was not down. He turned, and 
 blew out the candle in her hand. 
 
 " Ah, your Excellency ! " she cried in tremulous 
 affright. 
 
 " We could have been seen from outside," 
 he explained. She turned and saw the moonlight 
 streaming in at the window, and lying like a 
 silver coverlet upon the floor. As if with a 
 blind, involuntary instinct for protection, she 
 stepped forward, and stood within it, motion- 
 less. The sight thrilled him, and he moved 
 towards her. The mind of the girl reasserted 
 itself, and she hastened to the door. Again, as 
 she was about to pass him, he put his hand upon 
 her shoulder. 
 
 " Elise, Elise ! " he said. The voice was per- 
 suasive, eloquent, going to every far retreat ot 
 emotion in her. 
 
 There was a sudden riot in his veins, and he 
 took her passionately in his arms, and kissed her 
 on the lips, on the eyes, on the hair, on the neck. 
 At that moment the outer door opened below, and 
 the murmur of voices came to them. 
 
 " Oh monsieur, oh monsieur, let me go," she 
 whispered fearfully. "It is my mother and 
 Duclosse the mealman."
 
 132 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Valmond recognized the fat, wheezy tones of 
 Duclosse — Sergeant Duclosse. He released her, 
 and she caught up the candle. 
 
 " What can you do ? " she whispered. 
 
 " I will wait here. I must not go down," he 
 replied. " It would mean ruin." 
 
 Ruin ! ruin ! Was she face to face with ruin 
 already, she who, two minutes ago, was as safe 
 and happy as a young bird in its nest ? He saw 
 instantly he had made a mistake, had been cruel, 
 though he had not intended it. 
 
 " Ruin to me," he said at once. " Duclosse is a 
 stupid fellow; he would not understand, he would 
 desert me, and that would be disastrous at this 
 moment. Go down," he said, " I will wait here, 
 filise." 
 
 Her brows knitted. " Oh monsieur, oh mon- 
 sieur, I'd rather face death, I believe, than that 
 you should remain here." 
 
 But he pushed her gently toward the door, and 
 soon afterwards he heard her talking to Duclosse 
 and her mother. 
 
 He sat down on the couch, and listened for a mo- 
 ment. His veins were still glowing from the wild 
 moment just passed. Elise would come back — 
 and then — what ? She would be alone with him 
 again in this room, loving him — fearing him. He 
 remembered once how as a child he had seen a 
 peasant strike his wife, felling her to the ground, 
 and how afterwards she had clasped him round 
 the neck and kissed him, as he bent over, in merely
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 33 
 
 vulgar fright lest he had killed her. That scene 
 flashed before him. 
 
 Then came an opposing thought. As Madame 
 Chalice had said, either as dauphin or fool, he was 
 playing a terrible game. Why shouldn't he get 
 all he could out of it while it lasted — let the world 
 break over him when it must ? Why should he 
 stand in an orchard of ripe fruit, and refuse to pick 
 what lay luscious to his hand, what this stupid 
 mealman below would pick, and eat, and yawn 
 over ? There was the point. Wouldn't the girl 
 rather have him, Valmond, at any price, than the 
 priest-blessed love of Duclosse and his kind ? 
 
 The thought possessed, devoured him, for a 
 moment. Suddenly there rang in his ears the 
 words which had haunted him all day : 
 
 " Holy bread, I take thee ; 
 If I die suddenly, 
 Serve me as a sacrament." 
 
 They passed back and forth in his mind for a 
 little time, before they had any significance. Then 
 they gave birth to another thought. Suppose he 
 stayed, suppose he took advantage of the love of 
 this girl ? He looked around the little room, 
 showing so peacefully in the moonlight — the relig- 
 ious symbols, the purity, the cleanliness, the calm 
 poverty. He had known the inside of the boudoirs 
 and the bedchambers of women of fashion — he had 
 seen them, at least. In them the voluptuous, the 
 indulgent, seemed part of the picture. Good God !
 
 134 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 He was not a beast that he could fail to see what 
 this tiny bedroom would be, if he followed his wild 
 will. 
 
 Some terrible fate might overtake his gay pil- 
 grimage to empire, and leave him lost, abandoned, 
 in a desert of ruin. Why not give up the adven- 
 ture, and come to this quiet and this good peace, 
 so shutting out the stir and violence of the world ? 
 
 All at once another face came into his thoughts, 
 swam in his sight, and he knew that what he felt 
 for this peasant girl was of one side of his nature 
 only. All of him worth the having — was any 
 worth the having ? — responded to that diffusing 
 charm which brought so many men to the feet of 
 the woman at the Manor, who had lovers by the 
 score ; lovers who worshipped unrequited : from 
 such as the Cur€ and the avocat, gentle and noble, 
 to the young Seigneur, selfish and ulterior. 
 
 He got to his feet quietly. No, he would make 
 a decent exit, in triumph or defeat, to honor this 
 woman who was standing his friend. Let them, 
 the British Government, proceed against him ; he 
 would have only one trouble to meet, one to leave 
 behind. 
 
 He would not load this poor girl with shame as 
 well as sorrow. Her love itself was affliction 
 enough to her. This adventure was serious ; a 
 bullet might drop him ; the law might remove 
 him : and so he would leave the girl alone. 
 
 He was about to descend by the window, when 
 he heard a door shut below, and the thud of heavy
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 35 
 
 Steps outside the house. Drawing back, he waited 
 until the footstep of Elise sounded upon the stair. 
 She came in without a light, and at first did not 
 see him. He heard her gasp. Stepping forward 
 a little, he said : 
 
 " I am here, Elise. Come." 
 
 " Oh monsieur — your Excellency," she whis- 
 pered affrightedly. " Oh, you cannot go down, 
 for my mother sits ill by the fire. You cannot go 
 out that way." 
 
 He took both her hands. " No matter. Poor 
 child, you are trembling ! Come." 
 
 He drew her toward the couch. She shrank 
 back. " Oh, no, monsieur, oh— I die of shame ! 
 Oh monsieur ! " 
 
 " Do not be afraid, Elise," he answered gently, 
 and drew her to his side. " Let us say good- 
 night." 
 
 She grew very still, and he felt her move towards 
 him, as she divined his purpose, and knew that 
 this room of hers would have no shadow in it to- 
 morrow, and her soul no unpardonable sin. A 
 warm peace passed through her veins, and she 
 drew nearer still. She did not know that this new 
 ardent confidence came near to wrecking her. 
 For Valmond had an instant's madness, and only 
 saved himself from the tumult in his blood, by get- 
 ting to his feet, with strenuous resolution. Taking 
 both her hands, he kissed her on the cheeks, and 
 said : 
 
 " Adieu, 6lise, may your sorrow never be
 
 136 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 more, and my happiness never be less. I am 
 going." 
 
 He felt her hand grasp his arm, as if with a 
 desire that he should not leave her. Then she 
 rose quickly, and came with hirn to the window. 
 Raising the sash, she held it, and he looked out. 
 There seemed to be no one in the road, no one in 
 the yard. So, half turning, he swung himself 
 down by his hands, and dropped to the ground. 
 From the window above a sob came to him, and 
 Elise's face showed for an instant in the moon- 
 light, all tears. 
 
 He did not seek the road directly, but climbing 
 a fence near by, crossed a hayfield, going unseen, 
 as he thought, to the village. 
 
 But a woman, walking in the road with an old 
 gentleman, had seen and recognized him. Her 
 fingers clinched with anger at the sight, and her 
 spirit filled with disgust. 
 
 " What are you looking at ?" said her compan- 
 ion, who was short-sighted. 
 
 " At the tricks moonlight plays with the eyes. 
 Shadows frighten me sometimes, my dear avocat." 
 She shuddered. 
 
 " My dear madame ! " he said in warm sym- 
 pathy.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 1 HE sun was going down behind the hills, like 
 a drowsy boy to his bed, radiant and weary from 
 his day's sport. The villagers were up at Dal- 
 grothe Mountain soldiering for Valmond. Every 
 evening, when the haymakers put up their scythes, 
 the mill-wheel stopped turning, and the Angelus 
 ceased, the men marched away into the hills, where 
 the ardent " Napoleon " had pitched his camp. 
 
 Tents, muskets, ammunition came out of dark 
 places, as they are ever sure to come when the war- 
 trumpet sounds. All seems peace, but suddenly, 
 at the wild call, the latent barbarian in human 
 nature springs up and is ready ; and the cruder 
 the arms the fiercer the temper that wields. 
 
 Recruits now arrived from other parishes, and 
 besides those who came every night to drill, there 
 were others who stayed always in camp. The 
 limeburner left his kiln, and sojourned with his 
 dogs at Dalgrothe Mountain, the mealman neg- 
 lected his trade, and Lajeunesse was not to be 
 found at his blacksmith shop, save after dark, 
 when the red glow of his forge could be seen till 
 midnight. He was captain of a company in the 
 daytime, forgeron at night. 
 
 Valmond, no longer fantastic in dress, speech,
 
 138 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 or manner, was happy, busy, buoyed up and cast 
 down by turn, troubled, exhilarated. He could 
 not understand these variations of health and 
 mood. He had not felt equably well since the 
 night of Gabriel's burial in the miasmic airs of 
 the mountain. At times he felt a wonderful light- 
 ness of head and heart, with splendid hopes ; 
 again a heaviness and an aching, accompanied by 
 a feeling of doom. He fought the depression, and 
 appeared always before his men cheerful and alert. 
 He was neither looking back nor looking forward, 
 but living in his dramatic theme from day to day, 
 and wondering if, after all, this movement, by some 
 joyful, extravagant chance, might not carry him 
 on even to the chambers of the Tuileries. 
 
 From the first day that he had gathered these 
 peasants about him, had convinced, almost against 
 their will, the wise men of the village, this fanciful 
 adventure had been growing a deep reality to him. 
 He had convinced himself ; he felt that he could, 
 in a larger sphere, gather thousands about him 
 where he now gathered scores — with a good cause. 
 Well, was his cause not good ? 
 
 There were others to whom this growing reality 
 was painful. The young Seigneur was serious 
 enough about it, and more than once, irritated and 
 perturbed, he sought Madame Chalice ; but she 
 gave him no encouragement, remarking coldly 
 that Monsieur Valmond probably knew very well 
 what he was doing, and was weighing all conse- 
 quences.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 39 
 
 She had become interested in a passing drama, 
 and De la Rividre's attentions produced no im- 
 pression on her, and gave her no pleasure. They 
 were, however, not obtrusive. She had seen 
 much of him two years before ; he had been a 
 good friend of her husband. She was amused at 
 his attentions then : she had little to occupy her, 
 and she felt herself superior to any man's emo- 
 tions ; not such as this young Seigneur could win 
 her away from her passive but certain fealty. She 
 had played with fire, from the very spirit of adven- 
 ture in her, but she had not been burnt. 
 
 "You say he is an impostor, dear monsieur," 
 she said languidly. " Do pray exert yourself, and 
 prove him one. What is your evidence ? " 
 
 She leaned back in the very chair where she 
 had sat looking at Valmond two weeks before, 
 her fingers idly smoothing out the folds of her 
 dress. 
 
 "Oh, the thing is impossible," he answered, 
 blowing the smoke of a cigarette ; " we've had no 
 real proof of his birth, and life — and so on." 
 
 " But there are relics !" she said suggestively, 
 and she picked up the miniature of the Emperor. 
 
 " Owning a skeleton doesn't make it your an- 
 cestor," he answered. 
 
 He laughed, for he was pleased at his own 
 cleverness, and he also wished to remain good- 
 tempered. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you at last take the true 
 attitude towards this," she responded brightly.
 
 I40 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " If it's a comedy, enjoy it. If it's a tragedy — " 
 she drew herself up with a little shudder, for she 
 was thinking of that figure dropping from Elise's 
 window — "you cannot stop it. Tragedy is inevi- 
 table ; it's only comedy that is within the gift and 
 governance of mortals." 
 
 For a moment she was lost in the thought of 
 Elise, of Valmond's vulgarity and commonness ; 
 and he had dared to speak words of admiration 
 to her ! She flushed to the hair, as she had done 
 fifty times since she had seen him that moonlit 
 night. Ah, she had thought him the dreamer, 
 the enthusiast — maybe, in kind, credulous mo- 
 ments, the great man he claimed to be ; and he 
 had only been the sensualist after all ! That he 
 did not love Elise, she knew well enough ; he had 
 been cold-blooded ; in this, at least, he was Napo- 
 leonic. 
 
 She had not spoken whh him since that night, 
 but she had had two long letters superscribed, " In 
 Camp, Headquarters, Dalgrothe Mountain," and 
 these had breathed only patriotism, the love of a 
 cause, the warmth of a strong, virile temperament, 
 almost a poetical abandon of unnamed ambitions 
 and achievements. She had read the letters 
 again and again, for she had found it hard to rec- 
 oncile them with her later knowledge of this man. 
 He wrote to her as to a confederate, frankly, 
 warmly. She felt the genuine thing in him some- 
 where ; and, in spite of all, she had a sort of sym- 
 pathy for him. Yet that scene — that scene ! She
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I4I 
 
 crimsoned with anger again, and, in spite of her 
 smiling lips, the young Seigneur saw and won- 
 dered. 
 
 "The thing must end soon," he said, as he rose 
 to go, for a messenger had come for him. "He 
 is injuring the peace, the trade, and the life of the 
 parishes ; he is gathering men and arms, drilling, 
 exploiting military designs in one country, to 
 proceed against another. England is at peace 
 with France ! " 
 
 " An international matter, this ? " she asked 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " Yes. The Government at Quebec is English ; 
 we are French, and he is French ; and I repeat, 
 this thing is serious." 
 
 She smiled. " I am an American. I have no 
 responsibility." 
 
 " They might arrest you for aiding and abetting 
 if " 
 
 " If what, dear and cheerful friend ?" 
 
 " If I did not make it right for you." He smiled 
 indulgently. 
 
 She touched his arm, and said with ironical 
 sweetness : " How you relieve my mind ! " Then, 
 with delicate insinuation : " I have a lot of old 
 muskets here, at least a hundred pounds of pow- 
 der, and plenty of provisions, and I will send them 
 to — Napoleon." 
 
 He instantly became grave. " I warn you " 
 
 She interrupted him. " Nonsense ! You warn 
 me ! " She laughed mockingly. " I warn you,
 
 142 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 dear Seigneur, that you will be more sorry than 
 satisfied if you meddle in this matter." 
 
 "You are going to send those things to him ? " 
 he asked anxiously. 
 
 "Certainly — and food every day." 
 
 And she kept her word. 
 
 De la Riviere, as he went down the hill, thought 
 with irritation of how ill things were going with 
 him and Madame Chalice — so different from two 
 years ago, when their friendship had first begun. 
 He had remembered her with a singular persist- 
 ency, he had looked forward to her coming back, 
 and when she came, his heart had fluttered like a 
 school-boy's. But things had changed. Clearly, 
 she was interested in this impostor. Was it the 
 man himself or the adventure .■* He did not know. 
 But the adventure was the man — and, who could 
 tell ? Once he thought he had detected some 
 warmth for himself in her eye, in the clasp of her 
 hand ; now ! A spirit of black, ungentle- 
 manly malignity seized upon him. 
 
 It possessed him most strongly at the moment 
 he was passing the home of Elise Malboir. The 
 girl was standing by the gate, looking towards 
 the village. Her brow was a little heavy, so that 
 it gave her eyes at all times a deep look, but now 
 De la Riviere saw that they were brooding as 
 well. There was a pathetic sadness in the poise 
 of the head. He did not take off his hat to her. 
 
 " Oh, grand to the war he goes, 
 O gai, vive le roi ! "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I43 
 
 he said teasingly. He thought she might have a 
 lover among the recruits at Dalgrothe Mountain. 
 
 She turned to him, startled, for she thought he 
 meant Valmond. She did not speak, but became 
 very still and pale. 
 
 " Better tie him up with a garter, 6lise, and get 
 the old uncle back to Ville Bambord. Trouble's 
 coming. The game '11 soon be up." 
 
 "What trouble ? " she faltered. 
 
 "Battle, murder, and sudden death," he an- 
 swered and passed on with a sour laugh. 
 
 She slowly repeated his words, looked towards 
 the Manor House with a strange expression, then 
 went up to her little bedroom, and sat on the edge 
 of the bed for a long time, where she had sat with 
 Valmond. Every word, every incident, of that 
 night came back to her, and her heart filled up 
 with worship. It flowed over into her eyes, and 
 fell upon her clasped hands. If trouble did come 
 to him ? — He had given her a new world, he should 
 have her life and all else besides. 
 
 A half hour later De la Riviere ca-me rapping at 
 the Curd's door. The sun was almost gone, the 
 smell of the hayfields floated over the village, and 
 all was quiet in the streets. Women gossiped in 
 their doorways, but there was no stir anywhere. 
 With the young Seigneur was the member of the 
 legislature for the county. His mood was different 
 from that of his previous visit to Pontiac, for he 
 had been told that whether the cavalier adven- 
 turer was or was not a Napoleon, this campaign
 
 144 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 was illegal. He had made no move. Being a 
 member of the legislature, he naturally shirked 
 responsibility, and he had come to see the young 
 Seigneur, who was justice of the peace, and prac- 
 tically mayor of the county. They found the 
 Cur6, the avocat, and Medallion, talking together. 
 
 The three were greatly distressed by the repre- 
 sentations of the member, and Monsieur De la 
 Riviere. The Cure turned to the avocat, inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " The law, the law of the case is clear," he said 
 helplessly. " If the peace is disturbed, if there 
 is conspiracy to injure a country not at war with 
 our own, if arms are borne with menace, if his 
 Excellency " 
 
 " His Excellency ! my faith ! — you're an ass, 
 Garon ! " cried the young Seigneur, with an angry 
 sneer. 
 
 For once in his life the avocat bridled up. He 
 got to his feet and stood silent an instant, raising 
 himself up and down on his tip-toes, his lips com- 
 pressed, his small body suddenly contracting to a 
 firmness, and grown to a height, his eyelids work- 
 ing quickly. To the end of his life the Cur^ re- 
 membered and talked of the moment when the 
 avocat gave battle. To him it was superb — he 
 never could have done it himself. 
 
 " I repeat, his Excellency, Monsieur De la Rivi- 
 ere. My information is greater than yours, both 
 by accident and through knowledge. I accept 
 him as a Napoleon, and, as a Frenchman, I have
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 145 
 
 no cause to blush for my homage, nor my faith, 
 nor for his Excellency. He is a man of loving 
 disposition, of great knowledge, of power to win 
 men, of deep ideas, of large courage. Monsieur, 
 I cannot forget the tragedy he stayed at the smithy, 
 
 with risk of his own life. I cannot forget " 
 
 The Cure, anticipating, nodded at him encourag- 
 ingly. Probably the avocat intended to say Some- 
 thing quite different, but the look in the Curb's 
 eyes prompted him, and he continued : 
 
 " I cannot forget that he has given to the poor, 
 and liberally to the Church, and has made and 
 promised benefits to the deserving — ah, no, no, my 
 dear Seigneur ! " 
 
 He had delivered his speech in a quaint, quick 
 way, as though addressing a jury, and when he 
 had finished, he sat down again, and nodded his 
 head, and tapped his feet on the floor, and the Cur6 
 did the same, looking inquiringly at De la Riviere. 
 
 This was the first time there had been trouble 
 in the little coterie. They had never differed pain- 
 fully before. Tall Medallion longed to say some- 
 thing, but he waited for the Cur^ to speak. 
 
 "What have you to say, Monsieur le Cnr6?" 
 asked De la Rivi6re, testily. 
 
 " My dear friend Monsieur Garon has answered 
 for us both," replied the Cur^, quietly. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you will not act with 
 me to stop this thing," he urged, " not even for 
 the safety of the people ? " 
 
 The reply was calm and resolute.
 
 146 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " My people shall have my prayers and my life, 
 when needed, but I do not feel called upon to act 
 for the state. I have the honor to be a friend of — 
 his Excellency." 
 
 " By Heaven, the state shall act ! " cried De la 
 Riviere, fierce with rancour. " I shall go to this 
 Valmond to-night, with my friend the member 
 here. I shall warn him, and call upon the people 
 to disperse. If he doesn't listen, let him beware ! 
 I seem to stand alone in the care of Pontiac ! " 
 
 The avocat turned to his desk. " No, no ; I will 
 write you a legal opinion," he said with profes- 
 sional honesty. " You shall have my legal help ; 
 but for the rest, I am one with my dear Cur^." 
 
 " Well, Medallion, you, too ? " asked De la 
 Riviere. 
 
 " I'll go with you to the camp," answered the 
 auctioneer. " Fair play is all I care for. Pontiac 
 will come out of this all right. Come along." 
 
 But the avocat kept them till he had written his 
 legal opinion, and handed it courteously to the 
 young Seigneur. They all were very silent. There 
 had been a discourtesy, and it lay like a cloud on 
 the coterie. De la Riviere opened the door to go 
 out, after bowing to the Cur^ and the avocat, who 
 stood up with mannered politeness, but presently 
 turned, came back, was about to speak, when, 
 catching- sight of a miniature of Valmond on the 
 avocat's desk, before which was set a bunch of vio- 
 lets, he wheeled and left the room without a word. 
 
 The moon had not yet risen, but stars were
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I47 
 
 shining, when the young Seigneur and the member 
 came to Dalgrothe Mountain. On one side of 
 the Rock of Red Pigeons was a precipice and wild 
 water ; on the other was a deep valley like a cup, 
 and in the centre of this was a sort of plateau or 
 gentle slope. Dalgrothe Mountain towered above. 
 Upon this plateau Valmond had pitched his tents. 
 There was water, there was good air, and for pur- 
 poses of drill — or defence — it was excellent. The 
 approaches were patrolled, so that no outside strag- 
 glers could reach either the Rock of Red Pigeons 
 or the valley, or see what was going on . below, 
 without permission. Lagroin was everywhere, 
 drilling, commanding, brow-beating his recruits 
 one minute, and praising them the next, and 
 Lajeunesse, Garotte, Muroc, and Duclosse were 
 invaluable, each after his kind. 
 
 The young Seigneur and his companions passed 
 unchallenged, on up to the Rock of Red Pigeons. 
 Looking down, they had a perfect view of the 
 encampment. The tents had come from lumber- 
 camps, from river-driving gangs, and from private 
 stores ; there was no regular uniform, but flags 
 were flying everywhere, many fires were burning, 
 the voice of Lagroin in command came up the 
 valley loudly, and Valmond sat on his horse 
 watching the drill and a march past. The fires 
 lit up the sides of the valley and glorified the 
 mountains beyond. In this inspiring air it was 
 impossible to feel an accent of disaster or the 
 stealthy footfall of ruin.
 
 148 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 The three came down into the valley, then up 
 onto the plateau, where they were challenged, 
 allowed to pass, and came to where Valmond sat 
 upon his horse. At sight of them, with a suspi- 
 cion of the truth, he ordered Lagroin to march the 
 men down the long plateau. They made a good 
 figure filing past the three visitors, as the young 
 Seigneur admitted. 
 
 Valmond dismounted, and waited for them. 
 He looked weary, and there were dark circles 
 round his eyes, as though he had an illness ; but he 
 stood erect and dignified. His uniform was that 
 of a general of the Empire. It was rather dingy, 
 yet it was of rich material, and he wore the rib- 
 bon of the Legion of Honor on his breast. His 
 paleness did not arise from fear, for when his eyes 
 met Monsieur De la Riviere's there was in them 
 waiting inquiry, — nothing more. He greeted 
 them all politely, and Medallion warmly, shaking 
 his hand twice, for he knew well that the gaunt 
 auctioneer had only kindness in his heart, and 
 they had exchanged humorous stories more than 
 once — a friendly bond. 
 
 He motioned to his tent near by, but the young 
 Seigneur declined. 
 
 " It is business, and imperative," he said. Val- 
 mond bowed. " Isn't it time this comedy was 
 finished ? " continued De la Riviere, waving his 
 hand towards the encampment. 
 
 "My presence here is my reply, "answered Val- 
 mond. " But how does it concern monsieur ? "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I49 
 
 " All that concerns Pontiac concerns me." 
 
 " And me ; I am as good a citizen as you." 
 
 " You are troubling our people. This is illegal 
 — this bearing arms, these purposes of yours. It 
 is mere filibustering, and you are an " 
 
 Valmond waved his hand, as if to stop the word. 
 " I am Valmond Napoleon, monsieur." 
 
 " If you do not promise to drop this, I will arrest 
 you," said De la Riviere, sharply. 
 
 " You ? " Valmond smiled ironically. 
 
 " I am a justice of the peace. I have the power." 
 
 " I have the power to prevent arrest, and I 
 will prevent it, monsieur. You alone of all this 
 parish, I believe of all this province, turn a sour 
 face, a sour heart to me. I regret it, but I do not 
 fear it." 
 
 " I will have you in custody, or there is no law 
 in Quebec." 
 
 Valmond's face had become a feverish red, and 
 he made an impatient gesture. Both men were 
 filled with bitterness, for both knew well that the 
 touchstone of this malice was Madame Chalice. 
 Hatred looked out of their eyes. It was, each 
 knew, a fight to the dark end. 
 
 " There is not law enough to justify you, mon- 
 sieur," answered Valmond, quickly. 
 
 "Be persuaded, monsieur," said the member to 
 Valmond, with a smirking gesture. 
 
 " All this country could not persuade me ; only 
 France can do that, and first I shall persuade 
 France," he answered.
 
 150 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " Mummer ! " broke out De la Riviere. " By 
 Heaven, I will arrest you now ! " 
 
 He stepped forward, putting his hand in his 
 breast, as if to draw a weapon, though, in truth, 
 it was a summons. 
 
 Like lightning the dwarf shot in between, and 
 a sword flashed up at De la Riviere's breast. 
 
 " I saved your father's life, but I will take yours, 
 if you step farther, dear Seigneur," he said 
 coolly. 
 
 Valmond had not stirred, but his face had be- 
 come pale again. 
 
 " That will do, Parpon," he said quietly. "Mon- 
 sieur had best go," he added to De la Riviere, 
 " or even his beloved law may not save him ! " 
 
 " I will put an end to this," cried the other, burst- 
 ing with anger. " Come, gentlemen," he said 
 to his companions, and turned away. 
 
 Medallion lingered behind the others. 
 
 " Your E.xcellency, if ever you need me, let me 
 know. I'd do much to prove myself no enemy," 
 he said. 
 
 Valmond gave him his hand gratefully, bowed, 
 and beckoning a soldier to take his horse, walked 
 towards his tent. He swayed slightly as he went, 
 then a trembling seized him. He staggered as 
 he entered the door of the tent, and Parpon, see- 
 ing him, ran forward, and caught him in his arms. 
 The little man laid him down, felt his pulse, his 
 heart, saw the dark stain on his lips, and cried out 
 in a great fear :
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 151 
 
 " My God ! The black fever ! Ah, my Napo- 
 leon!" 
 
 For hours Valmond lay in a burning stupor, 
 and word went abroad that he might die ; but 
 Parpon insisted that all would be well presently, 
 and as no one but the Little Chemist and the Cure 
 were permitted to come in or near the tent, his 
 anxious followers were fain to content themselves 
 with the dwarf's assurance of his recovery.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 1 HE sickness had come like a whirlwind : when 
 it passed, what would be left ? The fight went on 
 in the quiet hills — a man of no great stature or 
 strength, against a monster who racked him in 
 a fierce embrace. A thousand scenes flashed 
 through Valmond's brain, before his eyes, while 
 the great wheel of torture went round, and he was 
 broken, broken, — mended and broken again, upon 
 it. Spinning — he was forever spinning, like a tire- 
 less moth through a fiery air, and the world went 
 roaring past. In vain he cried to the wheelman 
 to stop the wheel : there was no answer. Would 
 those stars never cease blinking in and out, nor 
 the wind stop whipping the swift clouds past .'' 
 So he went on, endless years, driving through 
 space, some terrible intangible weight dragging at 
 his heart, and all his body panting as it spun. 
 
 Grotesque faces came and went, and bright-eyed 
 women floated by, laughing at him, beckoning to 
 him ; but he could not come, because of this tire- 
 less going. He heard them singing, he felt the 
 divine notes in his battered soul ; he tried to weep 
 for the hopeless joy of it ; but the tears came no 
 higher than his throat. Why did they mock him 
 so ? At last, all the figures merged into one, and
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I S3 
 
 she had the face — ah, he had known it well, cen- 
 turies ago ! — of Madame Chalice. Strange that 
 she was so young still, and that was so long past 
 — when he stood on a mountain, and, clambering 
 a high wall of rock, looked over into a happy No- 
 man's Land. 
 
 Why did the face elude him so, flashing in and 
 out of the vapors ? Why was its look sorrowful 
 and distant ? And yet there was that perfect smile, 
 that adorable aspect of the brow, that light in the 
 deep eyes. He tried to stop the eternal spinning, 
 but it went remorselessly on ; and presently the 
 face was gone ; but not till it had given him ease 
 of his pain. 
 
 Then came fighting, fighting, nothing but fight- 
 ing — endless charges of cavalry, continuous 
 wheelings, and advancings, and retreatings, and 
 the mad din of drums ; afterwards, in a swift quiet, 
 the deep, even thud of horses' hoofs striking the 
 ground. Flags and banners flaunted gayly by. 
 How the helmets flashed, and the foam flew from 
 the bits ! But those flocks of blackbirds flying 
 over the heads of the misty horsemen — they made 
 him shiver. Battle, battle, battle, and death, and 
 being born — he felt it all. 
 
 Suddenly there came a wide peace and clear- 
 ing, and the everlasting jar and movement ceased. 
 Then a great pause, and light streamed round 
 him, comforting him. 
 
 It seemed to him that he was lying helpless and 
 still by falling water in a valley. The water
 
 154 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTiAC 
 
 soothed him, and he fell asleep. After a long 
 time he waked, and dimly knew that a face, good 
 to look at, was bending over him. In a vague, 
 far-off way he saw that it was Elise Malboir ; 
 but, even as he knew this, his eyes closed, the 
 world dropped away, and he sank to sleep 
 again. 
 
 It was no fantasy or delirium ; for Elise had 
 come. She had knelt beside his bed, and given 
 him drink, and smoothed his pillow ; and once, 
 when no one was in the tent, she stooped and 
 kissed his hot dark lips, and whispered words 
 that were not for his ears to hear, nor to be heard 
 by any of this world. The good Cur^ found her 
 there. He had not heart to bid her go home, 
 and he made it clear to the villagers that he 
 approved of her great kindness. But he bade 
 her mother come also, and she stayed in a tent 
 near by. 
 
 Lagroin and sixty men held the encampment, 
 and every night the recruits came from the village, 
 drilled as before, and waited for the fell disease 
 to pass. None knew its exact nature, but now 
 and again, in long years, some one going to 
 Dalgrothe Mountain was seized by it, and died, 
 or was left stricken with a great loss of the senses 
 or the limbs. Yet once or twice, they said, men 
 had come up from it no worse at all. There 
 was no known cure, and the Little Chemist could 
 only watch the swift progress of the fever, and use 
 simple remedies to allay the suffering. Parpon
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 55 
 
 guessed that the disease had seized upon Valmond 
 the night of the burial of Gabriel. He remem- 
 bered now the sickly, pungent air that floated 
 past, and how Valmond, weak from the loss of 
 blood in the fight at the smithy, shuddered, and 
 drew his cloak about him. A few days would 
 end it, for good or ill. 
 
 Madame Chalice received the news with con- 
 sternation, and pity would have sent her to Val- 
 mond's bedside, but that she had heard that Elise 
 was his faithful nurse and servitor. This fixed in 
 her mind the belief that if Valmond died he would 
 leave both misery and shame behind ; and that if 
 he lived she should, in any case, see him no more. 
 But she sent wines and delicacies to him, and de- 
 spatched a messenger to a city sixty miles away, 
 for the best physician. Then she sought the avocat 
 to find whether he had any exact information as 
 to Valmond's friends in Quebec or in France. 
 She had promised not to be his enemy, and she 
 remembered with a sort of sorrow that she had 
 even let him believe that she meant to be his 
 friend ; and, having promised, she would help him 
 in his sore strait. 
 
 She had heard of De la Riviere's visit to Val- 
 mond, and she intended sending for him, but 
 delayed it. The avocat told her nothing ; matters 
 were in abeyance, and she abided the issue ; 
 meanwhile getting news of the sick man twice 
 a day. But she used all her influence to keep 
 up the feeling for him in the parish, to prevent
 
 156 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 flagging of enthusiasm. This she did out of a 
 large heart, and a kind of loyalty to her own tem- 
 perament and to his ardor for his cause. Until 
 he was proved the comedian (in spite of the young 
 Seigneur) she would stand by him, so far as his 
 public career was concerned. Misfortune could 
 not make her turn from a man ; it was then she 
 gave him a helping hand. After all, what was 
 between him and Elise was for their own souls 
 and consciences. 
 
 As she passed the little cottage in the fields the 
 third morning of Valmond's illness, she saw the 
 girl entering. Elise had come to get some neces- 
 saries for Valmond and for her mother. She was 
 very pale ; her face had gained a spirituality, a 
 refinement, new and touching. Madame Chalice 
 was tempted to go and speak to her, and started 
 to do so, but turned back. 
 
 "No, no, not until we know the worst of this 
 illness — then ! " she said to herself. 
 
 But ten minutes later De la Riviere was not so 
 kind. He had guessed a little at Elise's secret, 
 and as he passed the house on the way to visit 
 Madame Chalice, seeing the girl, he stopped at her 
 door and said : 
 
 " How is the distinguished gentleman, Elise ? 
 I hear you are his slave." 
 
 The girl turned a little pale. She was passing 
 a hot iron over some coarse sheets, and pausing, 
 she looked steadily at him and replied : 
 
 " It is not far to Dalgrothe Mountain, monsieur."
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 157 
 
 " The journey's too long for me ; I haven't your 
 hot young blood," he said coarsely. 
 
 " It was not so long a dozen years ago, 
 monsieur." 
 
 De la Riviere flushed to his hair. That memory 
 was a bitter chapter in his life — a boyish folly, 
 which involved the miller's wife. He had buried 
 it, the village had forgotten it, — such of it as knew, 
 — and the remembrance of it stung him. He had, 
 however, brought it on himself, and he must eat 
 the bitter fruit. 
 
 The girl's eyes were cold and hard. She knew 
 him to be Valmond's enemy, and she had no idea 
 of sparing him. She knew also that he had been 
 courteous enough to send a man each day to in- 
 quire after Valmond, but that was not to the 
 point ; he was torturing her, he had prophesied 
 the downfall of her "spurious Napoleon." 
 
 " It will be too long a journey for you, and for 
 all presently," he said. 
 
 " You mean that his Excellency will die ? " she 
 asked, her heart beating so hard that it hurt her. 
 Yet the flat-iron moved backwards and forwards 
 upon the sheets mechanically. 
 
 " Or fight a Government," he answered. " He 
 has had a good time, and good times can't last 
 forever, can they, 6lise ? Have you ever thought 
 of that ? " 
 
 She gasped for breath and swayed over the table. 
 In an instant he was beside her ; for, though he 
 had been irritable and ungenerous, he had at bot-
 
 J 58 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 torn a kind heart. Catching up a glass of water, 
 he ran an arm round her waist, and held the cup 
 to her lips. 
 
 "What's the matter, my girl?" he asked. 
 "There, pull yourself together." 
 
 She drew away from him, though grateful for 
 his new attitude. She could not bear everything. 
 She felt nervous and strangely weak. 
 
 " Won't you go, monsieur ? " she said, and 
 turned to her ironing again. 
 
 He looked at her closely, and not unkindly. 
 For a moment the thought possessed him, that 
 evil and ill had come to her. But he put it away 
 from him, for there was that in her eyes which 
 gave his quick suspicions the lie. He guessed, 
 however, that the girl loved Valmond, and he left 
 her with that thought. Going up the hill, deep in 
 meditation, he called at the Manor, to find that 
 Madame Chalice was absent, and would not be 
 back till evening. 
 
 When Elise was alone, a weakness seized her 
 again, as it had done when De la Riviere was 
 present. She had had no sleep in four days, and 
 it was wearing on her, she told herself, refusing 
 to believe that a sickness was coming. She went 
 up to her little bedroom, and, leaning against the 
 open window, figured Valmond in her mind, as 
 he stood in this place and that, his voice, his words 
 to her, the look in his face, the clasp of his hand. 
 
 All at once she fell on her knees before the little 
 shrine of the Virgin, and burst into tears. Her
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 59 
 
 rich hair, breaking loose, flowed round her — the 
 picture of a Magdalen ; but it was, in truth, a 
 pure girl with an honest heart. At last she 
 calmed herself and began to pray : 
 
 " Ah, dear Mother of God, thou who dost speak 
 for the sorrowful before thy Son and the Father, be 
 merciful to me and hear me. I am but a poor girl, 
 and my life is no matter. But he is a great man, 
 and he has work to do, and he is true and kind, and 
 he loves thy Son. Oh, pray for him, divine Mother, 
 sweet Mary, that he may be saved from death. 
 If the cup must be emptied, may it be given to me 
 to drink ! Oh, see how all the people come to him 
 and love him ! For the saving of Madelinette, 
 oh, may his own life be given him ! He cannot 
 pray for himself, but I pray for him. Dear Mother 
 of God, I love him, and I would lose my life for 
 his sake. Sweet Mary, comfort thy child, and 
 out of thy own sorrow be good to my sorrow. 
 Hear me and pray for me, divine Mary ! Amen." 
 
 Her whole nature emptied itself into this fervid 
 petition, and there came upon her a strange calm- 
 ness and clearness of brain, exhausted in body as 
 she was. 
 
 " Madame D^gardy ! Madame D^gardy ! " she 
 cried with sudden inspiration as she rose to her 
 feet. " Ah, I will find her ; she may save him 
 with her herbs !" and hurrying out of the house 
 and down through the village, she sought the little 
 hut by the river, where the old woman lived. 
 
 Elise had been to Madame D^gardy as good a
 
 l6o WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 friend, as a half-mad creature, with no memory, 
 would permit her. Parpon had lived for years 
 in the same village, but, though he was her own 
 son, she had never given him a look of recognition, 
 had used him as she used all others. In turn, the 
 dwarf had never told any one but Valmond of the 
 relationship, and so the two lived their strange 
 lives in their own singular way. But the Cur6 knew 
 who it was that kept the old woman's house sup- 
 plied with wood and other necessaries during the 
 long winters. Parpon himself had tried to sum- 
 mon her to Valmond's bedside, for he knew well 
 her skill with herbs, but the little hut was empty, 
 and he could get no trace of her. She had disap- 
 peared the night Valmond was seized of the fever, 
 and she came back to her little home in the very 
 hour that Elise visited her. The girl found her 
 boiling some savory mess before a big fire. She 
 was stirring the pot diligently, novv and then 
 sprinkling in what looked like a brown dust, and 
 watching the brew intently. 
 
 She nodded, but did not look at ^lise, and said 
 crossly : 
 
 " Come in, come in, and shut the door, silly." 
 
 "Madame," said the girl, "his Excellency has 
 the black fever." 
 
 " What of that ? " returned the old woman, 
 irritably. 
 
 "I thought maybe your herbs could cure him. 
 You've cured others, and this is an awful sickness. 
 Ah, won't you save him, if you can ? "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC l6l 
 
 " What are you to him, pale face ? " she said, 
 her eyes peering into the pot. 
 
 " Nothing more to him than you are, madame,'" 
 the girl answered wearily. 
 
 " I'll cure because I want, not because you ask 
 me, pretty brat." 
 
 Elise's heart gave a leap : these very herbs that 
 were brewing were for Valmond ! The old woman 
 had travelled far to get the medicaments immedi- 
 ately she had heard of Valmond's illness. Night 
 and day she had trudged, and she was more 
 brown and weather-beaten than ever. 
 
 "The black fever ! the black fever! " she cried. 
 " I know it well. It's most like a plague. I know 
 it. But I know the cure — ha, ha ! Come along 
 now, feather-legs, what are you staring there for ? 
 Hold that jug while I pour the darling liquor in. 
 Ha, ha ! Crazy Joan hasn't lived for nothing. 
 They have to come to her ; the great folks have to 
 come to her." 
 
 So she meandered on, while filling the jug, and 
 in the warm dusk they travelled up to Dalgrothe 
 Mountain, and came to Valmond's tent. By the 
 couch knelt Parpon, watching the labored breath- 
 ing of the sick man. When he saw Madame De- 
 gardy, he gave a growl of joy, and instantly made 
 way for her. She pushed him back with her stick 
 contemptuously, looked Valmond over, ran her 
 fingers down his cheek, felt his throat, and at 
 last held his restless hand, itlise, with the quick 
 
 intelligence of love, stood ready. The old woman 
 II
 
 l62 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 caught the jug from her, swung it into the hollow 
 of her arm, poured the cup half full, and motioned 
 the girl to lift up Vaimond's head, l^lise raised it 
 to her bosom, bending her face down close to his. 
 Madame Degardy instantly pushed back her head. 
 
 " Don't get his breath — that's death, idiot ! " 
 she said, and began to slowly pour the liquid into 
 Vaimond's mouth. It was a tedious process at 
 first, but at length he began to swallow naturally, 
 and finished the cup. 
 
 For an hour there was no change, and then he 
 became less restless. After another cupful, his 
 eyes half opened. Within another hour a per- 
 spiration came, and he was very quiet, and sleep- 
 ing restfully. Parpon crouched near the door, 
 watching it all with deep piercing eyes. Madame 
 Degardy never moved from her place, but stood 
 shaking her head and muttering. At last Lagroin 
 came, and whisperingly asked after his master ; 
 then seeing him in a healthy and peaceful sleep, 
 he stooped and kissed the hand lying upon the 
 blanket. 
 
 " Beloved sire ! Thank the good God ! " he 
 said. 
 
 Soon after he had gone, there was a noise of 
 tramping about the tent, and then a suppressed 
 cheer, which was fiercely stopped by Parpon, and 
 the soldiers of the Household Troops scattered to 
 their tents. 
 
 "What's that ?" asked Valmond, opening his 
 eyes bewilderedly.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 163 
 
 " Your soldiers, sire," answered the dwarf. 
 
 Valmond smiled languidly. Then he saw Ma- 
 dame D6gardy and Elise. 
 
 " I am very sleepy, dear friends," he said with 
 a courteous, apologetic gesture, and closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 Presently they opened again. " My snuff-box — 
 in my pocket," he said to the old woman, waving 
 a hand to where his uniform hung from the tent- 
 pok ; " it is for you, madame." 
 
 She understood, smiled grimly, felt in a waist- 
 coat pocket, found the snuff-box, and squatting on 
 the ground like a tailor, she took two pinches, and 
 sat holding the enamelled silver box in her hand. 
 
 "Crazy Joan's no fool, dear lad," she said at 
 last, and took another pinch, and nodded her 
 head again and again, while he slept soundly.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ** Lights out!" 
 
 The bugle rang softly down the valley, echoed 
 away tenderly in the hills, and was lost in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Roused by the clear call, ^lise rose from watch- 
 ing beside Valmond's couch and turned towards 
 the door of the tent. The spring of a perfect joy 
 at his safety had been followed by an aching in all 
 her body and a trouble at her heart. Her feet 
 were like lead, her spirit quivered and shrank by 
 turn. The light of the camp-fires sent a glow 
 through the open doorway upon the face of the 
 sleeper. 
 
 She leaned over him. The look she gave him 
 seemed to her anxious spirit like a farewell. This 
 ma.0 had given her a new life, and out of this had 
 ccfnie a new sight. Valmond had escaped death, 
 but in her poor confused way she felt another 
 storm gathering about him. A hundred feelings 
 possessed her ; but one thought was master of 
 them all : when trouble drew round him she must 
 be near him, must be strong to help him, protect 
 him, if need be. Yet a terrible physical weakness 
 was on her. Her limbs trembled, and her heart 
 throbbed in a sickening way.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 65 
 
 Valmond stirred in his sleep; a smile passed 
 over his face. She wondered what gave it birth. 
 She knew well it was not for her, that smile. It be- 
 longed to his dream of success — when a thousand 
 banners should flaunt in the gardens of the Tuile- 
 ries. Overmastered by a sudden rush of emotion, 
 she fell on her knees at his bed-side, bursting into 
 noiseless sobs which shook her from head to 
 foot. Every nerve in her body responded to the 
 shock of feeling; she was having her dark hour 
 alone. 
 
 At last, staggering to her feet, she turned to 
 the open door. The tents lay silent in the moon- 
 shine, but wayward lights flickered in the sump- 
 tuous dusk, and the quiet of the hills hung like a 
 canopy over the bivouac of the little army. No 
 token of misfortune came out of this peaceful en- 
 campment, no omen of disaster crossed the long 
 lane of drowsy fires and huge amorous shadows. 
 The sense of doom was in the girl's own heart, 
 not in this deep cradle of the hills. 
 
 Now and again a sentinel crossed the misty 
 line of vision, silent, and majestically tall, in the 
 soft haze which came down from Dalgrothe Moun- 
 tain, and fell like a delicate silver veil before the 
 face of the valley. 
 
 As she looked, lost in a kind of dream, there 
 floated up from a distant tent the refrain she knew 
 so well : 
 
 " Oh, say, where goes your heart ? 
 gai, vive k roi ! "
 
 1 66 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Her hand caught her bosom as if to stifle a 
 sudden pain. That song had been the keynote 
 to her new life, and it seemed now as if it were 
 also to be the final benediction. All her spirit 
 gathered itself up for a great resolution : she 
 would not yield to this invading weakness, this 
 misery of body and mind. 
 
 Someone drew out of the shadows and came 
 towards her. It was Madame D^gardy. She had 
 seen the sobbing figure inside the tent, but with 
 the occasional wisdom of the foolish of this world, 
 she had not been less considerate than the chil- 
 dren of light. 
 
 With brusque, kindly taps of her stick, she drove 
 the girl to her own tent, and bade her sleep ; but 
 sleep was not for Elise that night, and in the gray 
 dawn, while yet no one was stirring in the camp, 
 she passed slowly down the valley to her home. 
 
 Madame Chalice was greatly troubled also. 
 Valmond's life was saved. In two days he was 
 on his feet, eager and ardent again, and preparing 
 to go to the village : but what would the end of it 
 all be ? She knew of De la Riviere's intentions, 
 and she foresaw a crisis. If Valmond were in 
 very truth a Napoleon, all might be well, though 
 this great adventure must close here. If he were 
 an impostor, things would go cruelly hard with 
 him. Impostor ? Strange, how, in spite of all 
 evidence against him, she still felt a sureness in 
 him somewhere ; a radical reality, a convincing 
 quality of presence. At times he seemed like an
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 167 
 
 actor playing his own character. She could never 
 quite get rid of that feeling. 
 
 In her anxiety, for she was in the affair for good 
 or ill, she went again to Monsieur Garon. 
 
 •' You believe in Monsieur Valmond, dear avo- 
 cat ? " she asked. 
 
 The little man looked at her admiringly, though 
 his admiration was a quaint, Arcadian thing ; 
 and, perching his head on one side abstractedly, 
 he answered : 
 
 "Ah, yes, ah, yes! Such candor! He is the 
 son of Napoleon and a princess, born after Napo- 
 leon's fall, not long before his death." 
 
 " Then Monsieur Valmond is really name- 
 less ?" she asked. 
 
 " Ah, there is the point — the only point ; but 
 his Excellency can clear up all that, and will do so 
 in good time, he says. He maintains that France 
 will accept him." 
 
 "But the government here, will they put him 
 down ? proceed against him ? Can they ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes, I fear they can proceed against him. 
 He may recruit men, but he may not drill and 
 conspire — and so on. Yet " — the old man smiled, 
 as though at some distant and pleasing prospect — 
 "the cause is a great one ; it is great. Ah, madame, 
 dear madame " — he got to his feet, and stepped into 
 the middle of the floor — "he has thetrueNapoleonic 
 spirit. He loves it all. At the very first, it seemed 
 as if he weregoing to be a little ridiculous ; now it 
 is as if there was but one thing for him — love of
 
 l68 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 France, and loyalty to the cause. Ah, think of the 
 glories of the Empire : of France as the light ot 
 Europe, of Napoleon making her rich, and proud, 
 and dominant. And think of her now, sinking into 
 the wallow of bourgeois vulgarity. If — if, as his 
 Excellency said, the light were to come from here, 
 even from this far corner of the world, from this 
 old France, to be the torch of freedom once again 
 — from our little parish here ! " 
 
 His face was glowing, his thin hands made a 
 quick gesture of charmed anticipation. 
 
 Madame Chalice looked at him in a sort of 
 wonder and delight. Dreamers all ! And this 
 visionary Napoleon had come into the little man's 
 quiet, cultured, passive life, and had transformed 
 him, filled him with adventure and patriotism. 
 There must be something behind Valmond, some 
 real, even some great thing, or this were not pos- 
 sible. It was not surprising that she, with the 
 spirit of dreams and romance deep in her, should 
 be sympathetic, even carried away for the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " How is the feeling in the parish since his ill- 
 ness ? " she asked. 
 
 " Never so strong as now. Many new recruits 
 come to him. Organization goes on, and his E.xcel- 
 lency has issued a proclamation. I have advised 
 him against that — it is not necessary, it is illegal. 
 He should not tempt our Government too far. 
 But he is a man of as great simplicity as courage, 
 of directness and virtue — a wholesome soldier "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 69 
 
 She thought again of that moonlit night, and 
 Elise's window, and a kind of hatred of the man 
 came up in her. No, no, they all were wrong, he 
 was not the true thing. 
 
 " Dear avocat," she said suddenly, "you are a 
 good friend. May I always have as good ! But 
 have you ever thought that this thing may end in 
 sore disaster ? Is the man worthy our friendship 
 and our adherence ? Are we doing right ? " 
 
 " Ah, dear madame, convictions, principles, 
 truth, they lead to good ends — somewhere. I 
 have a letter here from Monsieur Valmond. It 
 breathes noble things ; it has humor, too — ah, 
 yes, so quaint ! I am to see him this afternoon. 
 He returns to the Louis Quinze to-day. The Curd 
 and I " 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm, interrupting 
 him. "Will you take me this evening to Mon- 
 sieur Valmond, dear friend ? " she asked. 
 
 She saw now how useless it was to attempt any- 
 thing through these admirers of Valmond ; she 
 must do it herself. He must be firmly warned 
 and dissuaded. The conviction had suddenly come 
 to her with great force, that the end was near — 
 come to her as it came to Elise. Her wise 
 mind had seen the sure end ; the heart of the 
 peasant girl had felt it. 
 
 The avocat readily promised. She was to call 
 for him at a little before eight o'clock. But she 
 decided that she would first seek Elise ; before 
 she accused the man, she would question the
 
 I70 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 woman. Above and beyond all anger she felt at 
 this miserable episode, there was pity in her heart 
 for the lonely girl. 
 
 Madame Chalice was capable of fierce tempers, 
 of great caprices, of even wild injustice, when her 
 emotions had their way with her ; but her heart 
 was large, her nature deep and broad, and her in- 
 stincts kind. The little touch of barbarism in her 
 gave her, too, a sense of primitive justice. She 
 was self-analytical, critical of life and conduct, yet 
 her mind and her heart, when put to the great 
 test, were above mere analysis. 
 
 Her rich nature, alive with these momentous 
 events, feeling the prescience of coming crisis, 
 sent a fine glow into her face, into her eyes. Ex- 
 citement gave a fresh elasticity to her step. In 
 spite of her serious thoughts, she looked very 
 young, almost irresponsible. No ordinary ob- 
 server could guess the mind that lay behind 
 the glowing eyes. Even the tongue at first de- 
 ceived, till it began to probe, to challenge, to 
 drop sharp, incisive truths in little gold-leaved 
 pellets, which brought conviction when the gold- 
 leaf wore off. 
 
 The sunlight made her part of the brilliant 
 landscape, and she floated into it, neither too 
 dainty nor too luxurious. The greatest heat 
 of the day was past, and she was walking slowly 
 under the maples, on the way to ^lise's home, 
 when she was arrested by a voice near her. Then 
 a tall figure leaped the fence, and came to her with
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I7I 
 
 outstretched hand and an unmistakable smile of 
 pleasure. 
 
 " I've called at the Manor twice, and found you 
 out, so I took to the highway," he said gayly. 
 
 "My dear Seigneur," she answered with mock 
 gravity, "ancestors' habits show in time." 
 
 " Come, that's severe, isn't it ? " 
 
 " You have waylaid me in a lonely place, master 
 highwayman ! " she said with a torturing sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 He had never seen her so radiantly debonair ; 
 yet her heart was full of annoying anxiety. 
 
 "There's so much I want to say to you," he 
 answered more seriously. 
 
 "So very much ? " 
 
 " Very much indeed." 
 
 She looked up the road. " I can give you ten 
 minutes," she said. "Suppose we walk up and 
 down under these trees. It's shady and quiet here. 
 Now, proceed, monsieur. Is it my money or my 
 life ? " 
 
 " You are in a charming mood to-day." 
 
 " Which is more than I could say for you the 
 last time we met. You threatened, stormed, were 
 childish, impossible to a degree." 
 
 His face became grave. " We were such good 
 friends once," he said softly. 
 
 "Once — once ? " she asked maliciously. " Once 
 Cain and Abel were a happy family. When was 
 that once. Monsieur De la Riviere ?" 
 
 " Two years ago. What talks we had then !
 
 172 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 And I had so looked forward to your coming 
 again. It was the alluring thing in my life, your 
 arrival," he went on; "but something came be- 
 tween." 
 
 His tone nettled her. He talked as if he had 
 some distant claim on her. 
 
 "Something came between," she repeated 
 slowly, mockingly. "That sounds melodramatic 
 indeed. What was it came between — a coach- 
 and-four, or a grand army ? " 
 
 " Nothing so stately," he answered, piqued by 
 her tone. " A filibuster and his ragamuffins." 
 
 "Ragamuffins would be appreciated by Mon- 
 sieur Valmond's followers, spoken at the four 
 corners," she answered. 
 
 "Then I'll change it," he said : " a ragamuffin 
 and his filibusters." 
 
 " The ' ragamuffin ' always speaks of his enemies 
 with courtesy, and the filibusters love their leader," 
 was her tart rejoinder. 
 
 " At half a dollar a day," he answered sharply. 
 
 "They get that much from his Excellency, do 
 they ? " she asked in real surprise. " That doesn't 
 look like filibustering, does it ? " 
 
 " ' His Excellency ' ! " he retorted. " Why won't 
 you look this matter straight in the face ? Napo- 
 leon, or no Napoleon, the end of this thing is ruin." 
 
 " Take care that you don't get lost in the 
 debris," she said bitingly. 
 
 " I can take care of myself. I am sorry to have 
 you mixed up in it."
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 73 
 
 "You are sorry! How good of you! How 
 paternal ! " 
 
 " If your husband were here " 
 
 " If my husband were here, you would prob- 
 ably be his best friend," she rejoined with acid 
 sweetness ; " and I should still have to take care 
 of myself." 
 
 Had he no sense of what was possible to leave 
 unsaid to a woman ? She was very angry, though 
 she was also a little sorry for him ; for perhaps in 
 the long run he would be in the right. But he 
 must pay for his present stupidity. 
 
 " You wrong me," he answered with a quick 
 burst of feeling. " You are most unfair. You 
 punish me because I do my public duty ; and be- 
 cause I would do anything in the world for you, 
 you punish me the more. Have you forgotten 
 two years ago ? Is it so easy to your hand, a true 
 and constant admiration, a sincere homage, that 
 you throw it aside like ? " 
 
 " Monsieur De la Riviere," she said with exas- 
 perating deliberation, her eyes filling with a dan- 
 gerous light, " your ten minutes is more than up. 
 And it has been quite ten minutes too long." 
 
 "If I were a filibuster " he said bitterly 
 
 and suggestively. 
 
 She interrupted him, murmuring with a purring 
 softness : " If you had only courage enough ! " 
 
 He waved his hand angrily. "If I had, I should 
 hope you would prove a better friend to me than 
 you are to this man."
 
 174 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " Ah, in what way do I fail toward ' this man ' ? " 
 
 " By encouraging his downfall. See — I know 
 I am taking my life in my hands, as it were, but I 
 tell you this thing will do you harm when it goes 
 abroad." 
 
 She felt the honesty of his words, though they 
 angered her. He seemed to impute some per- 
 sonal interest in Valmond. She would not have 
 it from any man in the world. 
 
 " If you will pick up my handkerchief— ah, thank 
 you ! We must travel different roads in this mat- 
 ter. You have warned ; let me prophesy : Mon- 
 sieur Valmond — Napoleon will come out of this 
 with more honor than yourself." 
 
 "Thanks to you, then," he said gallantly, for 
 he admired her very stubbornness. 
 
 " Thanks to himself. I honestly believe that you 
 will be ashamed of your part in this, one day." 
 
 " In any case, I will force the matter to a con- 
 clusion," he answered firmly. " The fantastic 
 thing must end." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Within two or three days." 
 
 " When all is over, perhaps you will have the 
 honesty to come and tell me which was right — 
 you or I. Good-by." 
 
 He watched her sulkily as she left him, dipping 
 her parasol in mocking salutation, and turned her 
 steps towards the Malboir cottage, 
 
 Elise was busy at her kitchen tire. She looked 
 up, nervously, as her visitor entered. Her heavy
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I75 
 
 brow grew heavier, her eyes gleamed sulkily, as 
 she dragged herself wearily forward, and stood 
 silent and resentful. Why had this lady of the 
 Manor, come to her ? 
 
 Madame Chalice scarcely knew how to begin, 
 for in truth, she wanted to be the girl's friend, 
 and she feared making her do, or say some wild 
 thing. 
 
 She looked round the quiet room. A pot of fruit 
 was boiling on the stove, giving out a fragrant savor, 
 and ^lise's eye was on it mechanically. A bit of 
 sewing lay across a chair, and on the wall hung a 
 military suit of the old sergeant, beside it a short 
 sabre. An old tricolor was draped from a beam, 
 and one or two maps of France were pinned on 
 the wall. She fastened her look on the maps. 
 They seemed to be her cue. 
 
 " Have you any influence with your uncle ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 6lise did not answer. 
 
 " Because," Madame Chalice went on smoothly, 
 ignoring her silence, " I think it would be better 
 for him to go back to Ville Bambord — I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 The girl's lip curled angrily. What right had 
 this great lady to interfere with her or hers ? 
 What did she mean ? 
 
 " My uncle is a general and a brave man ; he 
 can take care of himself," she answered defi- 
 antly. 
 
 Madame Chalice did not smile at the title. She
 
 176 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 admired the girl's courage. She persisted, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " He is one man, and " 
 
 " He has plenty of men, madame, and his Ex- 
 cellency " 
 
 " His Excellency and hundreds of men cannot 
 stand if the Government send soldiers against 
 them." 
 
 " Why should the Gover'ment do that ? They're 
 only going to France ; they mean no trouble 
 here." 
 
 " They have no right to drill and conspire here, 
 my girl." 
 
 " Well, my uncle and his men will fight ; we'll 
 all fight," Elise retorted, her hands grasping the 
 arms of the rocking-chair she sat in. 
 
 " But why shouldn't we avoid fighting? What 
 is there to fight for ? You are all very happy here. 
 You were very happy here before Monsieur Val- 
 mond came. Are you happy now ? " 
 
 Madame Chalice's eyes searched the flushed 
 face anxiously. She was growing more eager 
 every moment to serve, if she could, this splendid 
 creature. 
 
 " We would die for him ! " answered the girl, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Vou would die for him," she said slowly and 
 meaningly. 
 
 "And what's it to you, if I would .-'"came the 
 sharp retort. " Why do you fine people meddle 
 yourselves with poor folks' affairs ? "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 177 
 
 Then, remembering she was a hostess, with the 
 instinctive courtesy of her race, she said : " Ah, 
 pardon, madame ; you meant nothing, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 "Why should fine folk make poor folk unhap- 
 py ? " said Madame Chalice, quietly and sor- 
 rowfully, for she saw that Elise was suffering, 
 and all the woman in her came to her heart and 
 lips. She laid her hand on the girl's arm. " In- 
 deed yes, why should fine folk make poor folk 
 unhappy ? It is not I alone who make you un- 
 happy, Elise." 
 
 The girl shook off the hand resentfully, for she 
 guessed the true significance of Madame Chalice's 
 words. 
 
 " What are you trying to find out ? " she asked 
 fiercely. " What do you want to do ? Did I ever 
 come in your way ? Why do you come into mine ? 
 What's my life to you ? Nothing, nothing at all. 
 You're here to-day and away to-morrow. You're 
 English ; you're not of us. Can't you see that I 
 want to be left alone ? If I were unhappy I could 
 look after myself. But I'm not, I'm not. I tell 
 you I'm not. I'm happy. I never knew what hap- 
 piness was till now. I'm so happy that I can 
 stand here and not insult you, though you've in- 
 sulted me." 
 
 " I meant no insult, Elise. I want to help you ; 
 that is all. I know how hard it is to confide in 
 one's relatives, and I wish with all my heart 1 
 might be your friend, if you ever need me." 
 
 12 .
 
 178 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 The girl met her sympathetic look clearly and 
 steadily. 
 
 " Speak plain to me, madame," she said. 
 
 " Elise, I saw some one climb out of your bed- 
 room window," was the slow reply. 
 
 "Oh, my God ! oh, my God ! " she cried, star- 
 ing blankly for a moment at Madame Chalice. 
 Then, trembling greatly, she reached to the table 
 for a cup of water. 
 
 Madame Chalice was at once by her side. " You 
 are ill, poor girl," she said anxiously, and put 
 her arm around her. 
 
 Elise drew away. 
 
 " I will tell you all, madame, all ; and you must 
 believe it, for, as God is my judge, it is the truth." 
 
 Then she told the whole story, exactly as it hap- 
 pened, save mention of the kisses that Valmond 
 had given her. Her eyes now and again filled 
 with tears, and she tried, in her poor untutored 
 way, to set him right ; she spoke for him alto- 
 gether, not for herself; and her listener saw that 
 the bond which held the girl to the man might 
 be proclaimed in the streets, with no dishonor. 
 
 "That's the story, and that's the truth," said 
 Elise at last. " He's a gentleman, a great man, 
 and I'm a poor girl, and there can be nothing be- 
 tween us ; but I'd die for him." 
 
 She no longer resented Madame Chalice's so- 
 licitude : she was passive, and showed that she 
 wished to be alone. 
 
 " You think there's going to be great trouble ? "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 179 
 
 she asked, as Madame Chalice made ready to 
 
 go- 
 
 " I fear so, but we will do all we can to pre- 
 vent it." 
 
 She walked slowly toward the Manor in the 
 declining sunlight, and Elise turned heavily to 
 her work again. 
 
 There came to the girl's ears the sound of a 
 dog-churn in the yard outside, and the dull roll 
 and beat seemed to keep time to the aching pulses 
 in her head, in all her body. One thought kept 
 circling through her brain : there was, as she had 
 felt, trouble coming for Valmond. She felt, too, 
 that it was very near. Her one definite idea 
 was that she should be able to go to him when 
 that trouble came ; that she should not fail him 
 at his great need. Yet these pains in her body, 
 this alternate exaltation and depression, this pitiful 
 weakness ! She must conquer it. She remem- 
 bered the hours spent at his bedside ; the 
 moments when he was all hers — by virtue of his 
 danger, and her own unwavering care of him. She 
 recalled the dark moment, when Death, intrusive, 
 imminent, lurked at the tent door, and when in 
 its shadow she emptied out her soul in that one 
 kiss of fealty and farewell. 
 
 That kiss — there came to her again, suddenly, 
 Madame D^gardy's cry of warning, " Don't get 
 his breath, idiot. It's death ! " 
 
 Death ! So that was it : the black fever was in 
 her veins ! That kiss had sealed her own doom.
 
 l8o WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 She knew it now. He had given her life by giving 
 her love. Well, he should give her death too — 
 her lord of life and death. She was of the chosen 
 few who could drink the cup of light, and the cup 
 of darkness, with equally regnant soul. 
 
 But it might lay her low in the very hour of 
 Valmond's trouble. She must conquer it — how ? 
 To whom could she turn for succor ? There 
 was but one — yet she could not seek Madame 
 D^gardy, for the old woman would drive her to 
 her bed, and keep her there. There was but this 
 to do : to possess herself of those wonderful herbs 
 which had been given her Napoleon in his hour 
 of peril. 
 
 Dragging herself wearily to the little hut by the 
 river, she knocked, and waited. All was still, 
 and opening the door, she entered. She caught 
 up a candle, lighted it, and then began her 
 search. Under an old pan, on a shelf, she found 
 both herbs and powder. Snatching a handful of 
 the herbs, she kissed them with joyful heart. 
 Saved — she was saved ! Ah, thank the Blessed 
 Virgin ! She would thank her forever ! 
 
 A horrible sinking sensation seized her. Turn- 
 ing in pain and dismay, she saw the face of Parpon 
 at the window. With a blind instinct for protec- 
 tion, she staggered towards the door, and fell, her 
 fingers still clasping the precious medicants. 
 
 As Parpon hastily entered, Madame D^gardy 
 hobbled out of the shadow of the trees, and fur- 
 tively watched the hut. When the light appeared,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC l8l 
 
 she crept to the door, and opened it stealthily 
 upon the intruders of her home. 
 
 Parpon was kneeling by the unconscious girl, 
 lifting up her head, and looking at her in horrified 
 distress. 
 
 With a shrill cry she came forward and dropped 
 on her knees at the other side of Elise. Her hand, 
 fumbling anxiously over the girl's breast, met the 
 hard and warty palm of the dwarf. She stopped 
 suddenly, raised the sputtering candle, and peered 
 into his eyes with a vague, wavering intensity. 
 For minutes they knelt there, the silence clothing 
 them about, the body of the girl between them. 
 A lost memory was feeling blindly its way home 
 again. By and by, out of an infinite past, some- 
 thing struggled to the old woman's eyes, and Par- 
 pon's heart almost burst in his anxiety. At 
 length her look steadied. Memory, recognition, 
 showed in her face. 
 
 With a wild cry her gaunt arms stretched across, 
 and caught the great head to her breast. 
 
 " Where have you been so long, my son, my 
 son ? " she said.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 V ALMOND'S strength came back quickly, but 
 something had given his mind a new color. He 
 felt, by a strange telegraphy of fate, that he had 
 been spared death by fever, to meet an end more 
 in keeping with the strange adventure which now 
 was coming to a crisis. The next day he was 
 going back to Dalgrothe Mountain, the day after 
 that there should be a final review, and the suc- 
 ceeding day, the march to the sea would begin. 
 There could be no more delay. A move must be 
 made. He had so lost himself in the dream, that 
 it had become real, and he himself was the splen- 
 did adventurer, the maker of empires. True, he 
 had but a small band of ill-armed men, but better 
 arms could be got, and by the time they reached 
 the sea — who could tell ! 
 
 As he sat alone in the quiet dusk of his room 
 at the Louis Quinze, waiting for Parpon, there 
 came a tap at his door. It opened, the gargon 
 mumbled something, and Madame Chalice entered 
 unattended. 
 
 Her look had no particular sympathy, but there 
 was a sort of friendliness in the rich color of her 
 face, in the brightness of her eyes. 
 
 " The avocat was to have accompanied me,"
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 83 
 
 she said; "but at the last I thought it better to 
 come without him, because " 
 
 She paused. " Yes, madame — because ? " he 
 asked, offering her a chair. He was dressed in 
 simple black, as on that tirst day when he called 
 at the Manor, and it set off the ivory paleness 
 of his complexion, making his face delicate yet 
 strong. 
 
 She looked round the room, almost casually, 
 before she went on. 
 
 " Because what I have to say were better said 
 to you alone — much better." 
 
 " I am sure you are right," he answered, as 
 though he trusted her judgment utterly ; and truly 
 there was always something boy-like in his attitude 
 towards her. The compliment was unstudied and 
 pleasant, but she steeled herself for her task. She 
 knew instinctively that she had influence with him, 
 and she meant to use it to its utmost limit. 
 
 " I am glad, we are all glad, you are better," 
 she said cordially; then added: "How do your 
 affairs come on ? What are your plans .-' " 
 
 Valmond forgot that she was his inquisitor : he 
 only saw her as his ally, his friend. So he spoke 
 to her, as he had done at the Manor, with a sort 
 of eloquence of his great theme. He had changed 
 greatly. The rhetorical, the bizarre, had left his 
 speech. There was no more grandiloquence than 
 might be expected of a soldier who saw things in 
 the bright flashes of the battle-field — sharp pinges 
 of color, the dyes well soaked in. He had the gift
 
 l84 WHEN V ALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 of telling a story : some peculiar timbre in the 
 voice, some direct dramatic touch. She listened 
 quietly, impressed and curious. The impossibili- 
 ties seemed for a moment to vanish in the big 
 dream, and she herself was a dreamer, a born ad- 
 venturer among the wonders of life. If she had 
 been a man she should have been an explorer or a 
 soldier. 
 
 But her mind speedily reasserted itself, and she 
 gathered herself together for the unpleasant task 
 that lay before her. 
 
 She looked him steadily in the eyes. " I have 
 come to tell you that you must give up this 
 dream," she said slowly. " It can come to nothing 
 but ill ; and in the mishap you may be hurt past 
 repair." 
 
 " I shall never give up — this dream," he said, 
 surprised but firm, almost dominant. 
 
 " Think of these poor folk who surround you, 
 who follow you. Would you see harm come to 
 them?" 
 
 " As soldiers, they will fight for a cause." 
 
 "What is — the cause ? " she asked meaningly. 
 
 " France," was the quiet reply. 
 
 " Not so— you, monsieur ! " 
 
 " You called me sire once," he said tenta- 
 tively. 
 
 "I called my maid a fool yesterday, under 
 some fleeting influence ; one has moods," she 
 answered. 
 
 "If you would call me simpleton to-morrow, we
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 185 
 
 might Strike a balance and find — what should we 
 find?" 
 
 "An adventurer, I fear," she remarked. 
 
 He was not at a loss. "An adventurer truly," 
 he said. "It is a very long way to France, and 
 there is much to do." 
 
 She could scarcely reconcile this acute, self-con- 
 tained man with the enthusiast and comedian, she 
 had seen in the Curb's garden. 
 
 " Monsieur Valmond," she said, " I neither sus- 
 pect nor accuse ; I only feel. There is something 
 terribly uncertain in this cause of yours, in your 
 claims. You have no right to waste lives," 
 
 " To waste lives ? " he asked curiously. 
 
 " Yes. The Government is to proceed against 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, yes," he answered, " Monsieur De la 
 Riviere has seen to that ; but he must pay for his 
 interference." 
 
 " That is beside the point. If a force comes 
 against you — what then ? " 
 
 "Then I will act as becomes a Napoleon," he 
 answered rather grandly. 
 
 So, there was a touch of the bombastic in his 
 manner even yet ! She laughed a little ironically. 
 Then all at once her thoughts reverted to Elise, 
 and some latent cruelty in her awoke. Though 
 she believed the girl, she would accuse the man, 
 the more so because she suddenly became aware 
 that his eyes were fixed on herself in ardent ad- 
 miration.
 
 1 86 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " You might not have a convenient window," 
 she said with deliberate consuming malevolence. 
 
 His glance never wavered, though he under- 
 stood instantly what she meant. So, she had dis- 
 covered that ! He flushed. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I hope that I am a gen- 
 tleman at heart ! " 
 
 The whole scene came back on him, and a 
 moisture sprang to his eyes. 
 
 " She is innocent," he said — " upon my sacred 
 honor ! Yes, yes, I know that the evidence is all 
 against me, but I speak the absolute truth. You 
 saw — that night, did you ?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Ah, it is a pity— a pity. But, madam.e, as you 
 are a true woman, believe what I say ; for, I 
 repeat, it is the truth." 
 
 Then, with admirable reticence, even great 
 delicacy, he told the story as Elise had told it, and 
 as convincingly. 
 
 " I believe you, monsieur," she said frankly, 
 when he had done, and stretched out her hand to 
 him with a sudden impulse of regard. " Now, 
 follow that unselfishness by another." 
 
 He looked inquiringly at her. 
 
 " Give up your adventure," she added eagerly. 
 
 " Never," was his instant reply, " never ! " 
 
 " I beg of you, I appeal to you — my friend," 
 she urged, possessed of the ardor of the counsel 
 who pleads a bad case. " I do not impeach you 
 or your claims, but I ask that you leave this vil-
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 87 
 
 lage as you found it, these happy people undis- 
 turbed in their homes. Ah, go ! Go now, and 
 you will be a name to them, remembered always 
 with admiration. You have been courageous, 
 you have been liked, you have been inspiring — 
 ah, yes, I admit it, even to me ! — inspiring. The 
 spirit of adventure in you, your hopes, your plans 
 to do great things, roused me. It was that made 
 me your friend more than aught else. Truly 
 and frankly, I do not think that I am convinced 
 of anything save that you are no coward, and 
 that you love a cause. Let it go at that — you 
 must, you must. You came in the night, pri- 
 vately and mysteriously; go in the night, this 
 night, mysteriously — an inscrutable, romantic fig- 
 ure. If you are all you say — and I should be 
 glad to think so — go where your talents will have 
 greater play, your claims larger recognition. 
 This is a small game here. Leave us as you 
 came. We shall be the better for it ; our poor folk 
 here will be the better for it. Stay, and who can 
 tell what may happen ? I was wrong, wrong — I 
 see that now — to have encouraged you at all. 
 I repent of it. Here, as I talk to you, I feel, with 
 no doubt whatever, that the end of your bold 
 exploit is near. Can you not see that ? Ah, yes, 
 you must, you must ! Take my horses to-night, 
 leave here, and come back no more ; and none of 
 us shall feel sorry in thinking of the time when 
 Valmond came to Pontiac." 
 
 Variable, accusing, she had suddenly shown
 
 1 88 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 him something beyond caprice, beyond accident 
 of mood or temper. The true woman had spoken ; 
 all outer modish garments had dropped away from 
 her real nature, and revealed its abundant depth 
 and sincerity. All that was roused in him at this 
 moment, was never known ; he never could tell it. 
 There were eternal spaces between them. She 
 had been speaking to him just now with no per- 
 sonal sentiment. She was only the lover of honest 
 things, the friend, the good comrade, obliged to 
 flee a cause for its terrible unsoundness, yet try- 
 ing to prevent wreck and ruin. 
 
 He arose and turned his head away for an in- 
 stant, so moving had been her eloquence. His 
 glance caught the picture of the Great Napoleon, 
 and his eyes met hers again with new resolu- 
 tion. 
 
 "I must stay," he answered ; "I will not turn 
 back, whatever comes. This is but child's play, 
 but a speck beside what I mean to do. True, I 
 came in the dark, but I will go in the light. I 
 shall not leave them behind, these poor folk ; 
 they shall come with me. I have money, France 
 is waiting, the people are sick of the Bourbons, I 
 have the great love of our cause, and " 
 
 " But you must, you must listen to me, mon- 
 sieur," she said desperately. 
 
 She came close to him, and out of the frank 
 eagerness of her nature, laid her hand upon his 
 arm, and looked him in the eyes with an almost 
 tender appealing.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 189 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Monsieur 
 De la Riviere was announced. 
 
 " Ah, madame," said the young Seigneur, in a 
 tone more than a little acrid, "secrets of state, no 
 doubt?" 
 
 " Statesmen need not commit themselves to 
 newsmongers, monsieur," she answered, still 
 standing very near Valmond, as though she would 
 continue a familiar talk when the disagreeable in- 
 terruption had passed. She was thoroughly fear- 
 less, clear of heart, above all littlenesses. 
 
 "I had come to warn Monsieur Valmond once 
 again, but I find him with his ally, counsellor — 
 and comforter," he retorted with perilous sugges- 
 tion. 
 
 Time would move on, and Madame Chalice 
 might forget that wild remark, but she never 
 would forgive it, and she never wished to do so. 
 The insolent, petty, provincial Seigneur ! 
 
 " Monsieur De la Riviere," she returned with 
 icy dignity, "you cannot live long enough to 
 atone for that impertinence." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madame," he returned earn- 
 estly, awed by the look in her face, for she was 
 thoroughly aroused. "I came to stop a filibuster- 
 ing expedition, to save the credit of the place 
 where I was born, where my people have lived 
 for generations." 
 
 She made a quick, deprecatory gesture. "You 
 saw me enter here," she said, "and you thought 
 to discover treason of some kind — Heaven knows
 
 190 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 what a mind like yours may imagine ! You find 
 me giving better counsel to Monsieur Valmond 
 than you could ever hope to give — out of a better 
 heart and from a better understanding. You have 
 been worse than intrusive ; you have been rash 
 and stupid. You call his Excellency filibuster and 
 impostor. I assure you it is my fondest hope 
 that Prince Valmond Napoleon, will ever count 
 me among his friends, in spite of all his ene- 
 mies." 
 
 She turned her shoulder on him, and took Val- 
 mond's hand with a pronounced obeisance, saying, 
 "Adieu, sire" (she was never sorry she had said 
 it), and passed from the room. Valmond was 
 about to follow her. 
 
 " Thank you, no, I will go to my carriage 
 alone," she said, and he did not insist. 
 
 When she had gone he stood holding the door 
 open, and looking at De la Riviere. He was very 
 pale ; there was a menacing fire in his eyes. The 
 young Seigneur was ready for battle also. 
 
 "I am occupied, monsieur," said Valmond, 
 meaningly. 
 
 " I have come to warn you " 
 
 "The old song; I am occupied, monsieur." 
 
 "Charlatan !" said De la Riviere, and took a 
 step angrily towards him, for he was losing com- 
 mand of himself. 
 
 At that moment Parpon, who had been lurking 
 outside in the hall for a half hour or more, 
 stepped into the room, came between the two,
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I9I 
 
 and looked up with a mocking leer at the young 
 Seigneur. 
 
 " You have twenty-four hours to leave Pontiac." 
 cried De la Riviere, as he left the room. 
 
 "My watch keeps different time, monsieur," 
 said Valmond, coolly, and closed the door.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 1* ROM the depths where 6lise was cast, it was 
 not for her to see that her disaster had brought 
 light to others ; that out of the pitiful confusion 
 of her life had come order and joy. A half-mad 
 woman, without memory, knew again whence she 
 came and whither she was going ; and, bewildered 
 and happy, with a hungering tenderness, moved 
 her hand over the head of her poor dwarf, as 
 though she would know if he were truly her own 
 son. A new spirit also had come into Parpon's 
 eyes, gentler, less weird, less distant. With the 
 advent of their joy a great yearning came to them 
 to save ^lise. They hung over her bed, watchful, 
 solicitous. 
 
 It must go hard with her, and twenty-four hours 
 would see the end, or afresh beginning. She had 
 fought back the fever too long, her brain and 
 emotions had been strung to a fatal pitch, and the 
 disease, like a hurricane, carried her on for hours. 
 Her own mother sat in a corner, stricken and 
 numb. At last she fell asleep in her chair, but 
 Parpon and his mother slept not at all. Now 
 and again the dwarf went to the door and looked 
 out at the night— still, and full of the wonder of 
 growth and rest.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 1 93 
 
 Far up on Dalgrothe Mountain, a soft brazen 
 light lay like a shield against the sky, a mys- 
 tical, hovering thing. He knew it to be the 
 reflection of the camp-fires in the valley, where 
 Lagroin and his men were sleeping. There came 
 out of the general stillness a long, low murmur, as 
 though nature were crooning : the untiring rustle 
 of the river, the water that rolled on and never 
 came back again. Where did they all go — those 
 thousands of rivers forever pouring on, lazily 
 or wildly ? What motive ? What purpose ? Just 
 to empty themselves into the greater waters, there 
 to be lost ? Was it enough to travel on so inevit- 
 ably to the end, and be swallowed up ? 
 
 And these millions of lives hurrying along ? 
 Was it worth while living, only to grow older and 
 older, and coming sooner or later to the Home- 
 stead of the Ages, enter a door that opened only 
 inward, and be swallowed up in the twilight ? 
 Why arrest the travelling, however swift it be ? 
 Sooner or later it must come — with dusk the end 
 of it. 
 
 The dwarf heard the moaning of the stricken 
 girl, her cry of " Valmond ! Valmond ! " the sobs 
 that followed, the woe of her self-abnegation, even 
 in delirium. 
 
 For one's self it mattered little, maybe, the atti- 
 tude of the mind, whether it would arrest or be 
 glad of the terrific travel ; but for another human 
 being, who might judge ? Who might guess what 
 was best for another, what was most merciful,
 
 194 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 most good ? Destiny meant us to prove our case 
 against it, as long and as well as we might ; to 
 establish our right to be here as long as we could, 
 so discovering the world day by day, and our- 
 selves to the world, and ourselves to ourselves. 
 To live it out, resisting the power that destroys, to 
 the end — that was the divine secret. 
 " Valmond ! Valmond ! oh Valmond ! " 
 The voice wailed out the words again and again. 
 Througrh the sounds there came another inner 
 voice, that resolved all the crude, primitive 
 thoughts here defined ; vague, elusive, in Par- 
 pon's own brain. 
 
 The girl's life should be saved at any cost, even 
 if to save it meant the awful and certain alterna- 
 tive doom his mother had whispered to him over 
 the bed an hour before. 
 
 He turned and went into the house. The old 
 woman bent above lillise, watching intently, her 
 eyes straining, her lips anxiously compressed. 
 
 " My son," she said, "she will die in an hour if 
 I don't give her more. If I do, she may die at 
 
 once. If she gets well, she will be " She 
 
 made a motion to her eyes. 
 
 " Blind, mother, blind ? " he whispered, and he 
 looked round the room. How good was the sight 
 of the eyes ! 
 
 "Perhaps she would rather die," said the old 
 woman. " She is unhappy." She was thinking 
 of her own far, bitter past, remembered now after 
 so many years. " Misery and blindness too — ah !
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I95 
 
 What right have I to make her blind ? It's a 
 great risk, Parpon, my dear son." 
 
 "I must, I must, for your sake. Valmond ! 
 Valmond ! oh Valmond ! " cried Elise again out 
 of her delirium. The stricken girl had answered 
 for Parpon. She had decided for herself. Life ! 
 that was all she prayed for : for another's sake, 
 not her own. 
 
 Her mother slept on in the corner of the 
 room, unconscious of the terrible verdict hanging 
 in the balance. 
 
 Madame Degardy emptied into a cup of liquor, 
 the strange brown powder, mi.xed it, and held it 
 to the girl's lips, pouring it slowly down. 
 
 Once, twice, during the next hour a low, an- 
 guished voice filled the room ; but just as dawn 
 came, Parpon stooped, and tenderly wiped a soft 
 moisture from the face lying so quiet and peace- 
 ful now, against the pillow. 
 
 " She breathes easy, poor pretty bird ! " said 
 the old woman, gently. 
 
 " She'll never see again ? " asked Parpon, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Never a thing while she lives," was the whis- 
 pered reply. 
 
 "But she has her life," said the dwarf; "she 
 wished it so." 
 
 "What's the good?" The old woman had 
 divined why Elise had wanted to live. 
 
 The dwarf did not answer. His eyes wandered 
 about abstractedly, and fell upon the sleeping
 
 196 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 mother, unconscious of the awful peril passed, 
 and the painful salvation come to her daughter. 
 
 The bluegray light of morning showed under the 
 edge of the closed window-blind. Day was min- 
 gling incongruously with night in the little room. 
 
 Parpon opened the door and went out. Morn 
 was spreading slowly over the drowsy landscape. 
 There was no life as yet in all the horizon, no 
 fires, no animals stirring, no early workmen, no 
 anxious harvesters. But the birds were out, and 
 presently here and there cattle rose up in the 
 fields. 
 
 Then, over the foot-hills, he saw a white horse 
 and its rider, show up against the gray dust of the 
 road. 
 
 ^lise's sorrowful cry came to him : " Valmond ! 
 Valmond ! oh Valmond !" 
 
 His duty to the girl was done ; she was safe ; 
 now he must follow that figure to where the smoke 
 of the camp-fires, came curling up by Dalgrothe 
 Mountain. There were rumors of trouble : he 
 must again be minister, counsellor, friend to his 
 master. 
 
 A half hour laterhe was climbing the hill where 
 he had seen the white horse and its rider. The 
 sound of a drum came from the distance. The 
 gloom and suspense of the night just passed went 
 from him, and into the sunshine he sang : 
 
 " Oh, grand to the war he goes, 
 O gai, vive le roi ! "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I97 
 
 Not long afterwards he entered the encamp- 
 ment. Around one fire, cooking their breakfasts, 
 were Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the meal- 
 man, and Garotte the limeburner. They all were 
 in good spirits. 
 
 " For my part," Muroc was saying, as Parpon 
 nodded at them, and passed by, " I'm not satisiied." 
 
 " Don't you get enough to eat ? " asked the meal- 
 man, whose idea of happiness was based upon the 
 appreciation of a good dinner. 
 
 "But yes, and enough to drink, thanks to his 
 Excellency, and the buttons he put on my coat." 
 Muroc jingled some gold coins in his pocket. " It's 
 this being clean, that's the devil ! When I sold 
 charcoal, I was black and beautiful, and no dirt 
 showed ; I polished like a pan. Now, if I touch 
 a potato I'm filthy. Pipe-clay is hell's stuff to 
 show you up as the Lord made you." 
 
 Garotte laughed. " Wait till you get to fight- 
 ing. Powder sticks better than charcoal. For 
 my part, I'm always clean as a whistle." 
 
 " But you're like a bit of wool, limeburner, 
 you never sweat. Dirt don't stick to you as to 
 me and the mealman. Duclosse there, used to 
 look like a pie when the meal and sweat dried on 
 him. When we reach Paris, and his Excellency 
 gets his own, I'll take to charcoal again ; I'll fill 
 the palace cellars. That suits me better than 
 chalk, and washing every day." 
 
 " Do you think we'll ever get to Paris ? " asked 
 the mealman, cocking his head seriously.
 
 198 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " That's the will of God, and the weather at 
 sea, and what the Bourbons do," answered Muroc, 
 grinning. 
 
 It was hard to tell how deep this adventure lay 
 in Muroc's mind. He had a prodigious sense of 
 humor, the best critic in the world. 
 
 " For me," said the limeburner, " I think there'll 
 be fighting before we get to the Bourbons. There's 
 talk that the Gover'ment's coming against us." 
 
 " Done ! " said the charcoalman. " We'll see 
 the way our great man puts their noses out of 
 joint." 
 
 " Here's Lajeunesse," broke in the mealman, as 
 the blacksmith came near to their fire. He was 
 dressed in complete regimentals, made by the 
 parish tailor. 
 
 " Is that so. Monsieur le Capitaine ? " asked 
 Muroc. " Is the Gover'ment to be fighting us ? 
 Why should it ? We're only for licking the Bour- 
 bons, and who cares a sou for them, eh ? " 
 
 " Not a go'-dam," said Duclosse, airing his 
 favorite oath. " The English hate the Bourbons 
 too." 
 
 Lajeunesse looked from one to the other, then 
 burst into a laugh. " There's two gills of rum 
 for every man at twelve o'clock to-day, so says his 
 Excellency ; and two buttons for the coat of every 
 sergeant, and five for every captain. The English 
 up there in Quebec can't do better than that, can 
 they ? And will they ? No. Does a man spend 
 money on a hell's foe, unless he means to give it
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC I99 
 
 work to do ? Pish ! Is his Excellency like to hang 
 back because Monsieur De la Rividre says he'll 
 fetch the Government ? Bah ! The bully soldiers 
 would come with us as they went with the Great 
 Napoleon at Grenoble. Ah, that ! His Excellency 
 told me about that just now. Here stood the sol- 
 diers" — he mapped out the ground with his sword 
 — "here stood the Great Napoleon, all alone. He 
 looks straight before him. What does he see ? 
 Nothing less than a hundred muskets pointing at 
 him. What does he do ? He walks up to the 
 soldiers, opens his coat, and says : ' Soldiers, 
 comrades, is there one of you will kill your em- 
 peror ? ' Damned if there was one. They dropped 
 their muskets, and took to kissing his hands. 
 There, my dears, that was the Great Emperor's 
 way, our emperor's father's little way." 
 
 " But suppose they fired at us 'stead of at his 
 Excellency ? " asked the mealman. 
 
 "Then, mealman, you'd settle your account for 
 lightweights sooner than you want." 
 
 Duclosse twisted his mouth dubiously. He 
 was not sure how far his enthusiasm could carry 
 him. Muroc shook his shaggy head in mirth. 
 
 " Well, 'tis true we're getting off to France," 
 said the limeburner. " We can drill as we travel, 
 and there's plenty of us for a start." 
 
 "Morrow we go," said Lajeunesse. "The 
 proclamation is to be out in an hour, and you're 
 all to be ready by ten o'clock in the morning. 
 His Excellency is to make a speech to us to-night ;
 
 200 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 then the general — ah, what a fine soldier, and 
 eighty years old ! — he's to give orders and make a 
 speech also : and I'm to be colonel " — he paused 
 dramatically — " and you three are for captains, 
 and you're to have five new yellow buttons to your 
 coats, like these." He drew out some gold coins 
 and jingled them. Every man got to his feer, 
 and Muroc let the coffee-tin fall. "There's to be 
 a grand review in the village this afternoon. 
 There's breakfast for you, my dears ! " 
 
 Their exclamations were interrupted by Lajeu- 
 nesse, who added : " And my Madelinette is to go 
 to Paris, after all, and Monsieur Parpon is to see 
 that she starts right." 
 
 Monsieur Parpon was a new title for the dwarf. 
 But the great comedy, so well played, had justi- 
 fied it. 
 
 " Oh, his Excellency '11 keep his word," said 
 the mealman. "I'd take Elise Malboir's word 
 about a man for a million francs, was he prince or 
 ditcher ; and she says he's the greatest man in the 
 world. She knows." 
 
 "That reminds me," said Lajeunesse, gloomily, 
 "Elise has the black fever." 
 
 The mealman's face seemed to petrify, his eyes 
 stood out, the bread he had in his teeth dropped, 
 and he stared wildly at Lajeunesse. All were 
 occupied in watching him, and they did not see 
 the figure of a girl approaching. 
 
 Muroc, dumbfounded, spoke first : " 6lise — the 
 black fever !" he gasped, thoroughly awed.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 20I 
 
 "She is better, she will live," said a voice behind 
 Lajeunesse. It was Madelinette, who had come 
 early to the camp to cook her father's break- 
 fast. 
 
 Without a word the mealman turned, pulled 
 his clothes about him with a jerk, and, pale and 
 bewildered, started away at a run down the plateau. 
 
 " He's going to the village," said the charcoal- 
 man. " He hasn't leave. That's court-mar- 
 tial ! " 
 
 Lajeunesse shook his head knowingly. " He's 
 never had but two ideas in his nut — meal and 
 6lise ; let him go." 
 
 The mealman was soon lost to view, unheeding 
 the challenge that rang after him. 
 
 Lagroin had seen the fugitive from a distance, 
 and came down, inquiring. When he was told, 
 he swore that Duclosse should suffer divers pun- 
 ishments. 
 
 " A pretty kind of officer ! " he cried in a fury. 
 " Damn it, is there another man in my army would 
 doit ?" 
 
 No one answered, and because Lagroin was not 
 a wise man, he failed to see that in time his army 
 might be dissipated by such awkward incidents. 
 When Valmond was told, he listened with abetter 
 understanding. 
 
 All Lajeunesse had announced came to pass. 
 The review and march and show were goodly, 
 after their kind, and by dint of money and wine 
 the enthusiasm was greater than ever it had been;
 
 202 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 for it was joined to the pathos of the expected de- 
 parture. The Cur6 and the avocat, kept within 
 doors ; for they had talked together, and now that 
 the day of fate was at hand, and sons, brothers, 
 fathers, were to go off on this far adventure, a new 
 spirit suddenly thrust itself in, and made them sad 
 and anxious. Monsieur De la Riviere was gloomy ; 
 Medallion was the one comfortable, cool person 
 in the parish. It had been his conviction that 
 something would occur to stop the whole business 
 at the critical moment. He was a man of impres- 
 sions, and he lived in the light of them continu- 
 ously. Wisdom might have been looked for from 
 Parpon, but he had been won by Valmond from 
 the start, and now in the great hour he was 
 absorbed in another theme — the restoration of his 
 mother to himself, and to herself. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the evening Valmond and 
 Lagroin were in the streets, after they had marched 
 their men back to camp. A crowd had gathered 
 near the church, for his Excellency was on his 
 way to visit the Cure. 
 
 As he passed they cheered him. He stopped to 
 speak to them. Before he had ended, some one 
 came crying wildly that the soldiers, the red- 
 coats, were come. The sound of a drum rolled 
 up the street, and presently, round a corner, came 
 the well-ordered troops of the Government. 
 
 Instantly Lagroin wheeled to summon any stray 
 men of his little army, but Valmond laid an 
 arresting hand on his arm. It would have been
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 203 
 
 the same in any case, for the people had scattered 
 like sheep, and stood apart. 
 
 They were close by the church steps. Valmond 
 mechanically saw the mealman, open-mouthed 
 and dazed, start forward from the crowd ; but, 
 hesitating, he drew back again almost instantly, 
 and was swallowed up in the safety of distance. 
 He smiled at the mealman's hesitation, even while 
 he said to himself, " This ends it — ends it ! " 
 
 He said it with no great sinking of heart, with 
 no fear. It was the solution of all ; it was his only 
 way to honor. 
 
 The soldiers were halted a little distance from 
 the two ; and the officer commanding, after a pre- 
 amble, in the name of the Government formally 
 called upon Valmond and Lagroin to surrender 
 themselves, or suffer the perils of resistance. 
 
 " Never ! " broke out Lagroin, and drawing his 
 sword, he shouted, " Vive Napoleon ! The Old 
 Guard never surrenders !" 
 
 Then he made as if to rush forward on the 
 troops. 
 
 " Fire ! " called the officer. 
 
 Twenty rifles blazed out. Lagroin tottered, and 
 fell at the feet of his master. 
 
 Raising himself he clasped Valmond's knee, and 
 looking up, said gaspingly : 
 
 "Adieu, sire! I love you ; I die for you." His 
 head fell at his emperor's feet, though the hands 
 still clutched the knee. 
 
 Valmond stood over his body, and drew a pistol.
 
 204 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 "Surrender, monsieur ! "said the officer, "or we 
 fire ! " 
 
 " Never ! A Napoleon knows how to die ! " 
 came the ringing reply, and he raised his pistol at 
 the officer. 
 
 " Fire ! " came the sharp command. 
 
 " Vive Napoleon ! " cried the doomed man, and 
 fell, mortally wounded. 
 
 At that instant the Cur6, with Medallion, came 
 hurrying round the corner of the church. 
 
 "Fools ! Murderers !" he said to the soldiers. 
 " Ah, these poor children ! " 
 
 Stooping, he lifted up Valmond's head, and 
 Medallion felt Lagroin's pulseless heart. 
 
 The officer picked up Valmond's pistol. A mo- 
 ment afterwards he looked at the dying man in 
 wonder, for he found that the weapon was not 
 loaded !
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "H 
 
 OW long. Chemist ? 
 " Two hours, perhaps." 
 " So long ? " 
 After a moment he said dreamily : " It is but a 
 
 step." 
 
 The Little Chemist nodded, though he did not 
 understand. The Cure stooped over him. 
 
 " A step, my son ? " he asked, thinking he spoke 
 of the voyage the soul takes. 
 
 " To the Tuileries," answered Valmond, and he 
 smiled. The Curb's brow clouded ; he wished to 
 direct the dying man's thoughts elsewhere. 
 
 " It is but a step — anywhere," he continued, 
 and looked towards the Little Chemist. " Thank 
 you, dear monsieur, thank you. There is a silver 
 night-lamp in my room ; I wish it to be yours. 
 Adieu, my friend." 
 
 The Little Chemist tried to speak, but could not. 
 He stooped and kissed Valmond's hand, as though 
 he thought him still a prince, and not the impostor 
 which British rifles had declared him. To the end, 
 the coterie would act according to the light of their 
 own eyes. 
 
 " It is now but a step to anything," repeated 
 Valmond.
 
 2o6 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 The Cur6 understood him at last. " The long- 
 est journey is short by the light of the grave," he 
 responded gently. 
 
 Presently the door opened, admitting the avocat. 
 Valmond calmly met Monsieur Garon's pained 
 look, and courteously whispered his name. 
 
 " Your Excellency has been basely treated," said 
 the avocat, his lip trembling. 
 
 " On the contrary, well, dear monsieur," an- 
 swered the ruined adventurer. " Destiny plays us 
 all. Think : I die the death of a soldier, and my 
 crusade was a soldier's vision of conquest I have 
 paid the price. I have " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but lay lost in 
 thought. At last he spoke in a low tone to the 
 avocat, who quickly began writing at his dictation. 
 
 The chief clause of the record was a legacy of 
 ten thousand francs to " my faithful minister and 
 constant friend. Monsieur Parpon ; " another often 
 thousand to Madame Joan Degardy, " whose skill 
 and care of me merits more than I can requite ; " 
 twenty thousand to the Church of St. Nazaire of 
 the parish of Pontiac ; five thousand to " the be- 
 loved Monsieur Fabre, cure of the same parish, to 
 whose good and charitable heart I come for my 
 last comforts ; " twenty thousand to " Mademoi- 
 selle Madelinette Lajeunesse, that she may learn 
 singing under the best masters in Paris." To 
 Madame Chalice he left all his personal effects, 
 ornaments, and relics, save a certain decoration 
 given the old sergeant, and a ring once worn by
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 20/ 
 
 the Emperor Napoleon. These were for a gift to 
 " dear Monsieur Garon, who has honored me with 
 his distinguished friendship ; and I pray that our 
 mutual love for the same cause, may give me 
 some title to his remembrance." 
 
 Here the avocat stopped him with a quick, pro- 
 testing gesture. 
 
 " Your Excellency ! your Excellency!" he said 
 in a shaking voice, " my heart has been with the 
 man, as with the cause." 
 
 Other legacies were given to Medallion, to the 
 family of Lagroin, of whom he still spoke as " my 
 beloved general who died for me ; " and ten francs 
 to each recruit who had come to his standard. 
 
 After a long pause, he said lingeringly : "To 
 Mademoiselle ^lise Malboir, the memory of whose 
 devotion and solicitude gives me joy in my last 
 hour, I bequeath fifty thousand francs. In the 
 event of her death, this shall revert to the parish 
 of Pontiac, in whose graveyard I wish my body to 
 lie. The balance of my estate, whatever it may 
 now be, or may prove to be hereafter, I leave to 
 Pierre Napoleon, third son of Lucien Bonaparte, 
 Prince of Canino, of whom I cherish a reverent 
 remembrance." 
 
 A few words more ended the will, and the name 
 of a bank in New York was given as agent. Then 
 there was silence in the room, arid Valmond ap- 
 peared to sleep. 
 
 Presently the avocat, thinking that he might 
 wish to be alone with the Cur6, stepped quietly to
 
 208 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 the door, and opened it upon Madame Chalice. 
 She pressed his hand, her eyes full of tears, passed 
 inside the room, going softly to a shadowed corner, 
 where she sat watching the passive figure on the 
 bed. 
 
 What were the thoughts of this man, now that 
 his adventure was over and his end near ? If he 
 were in very truth a prince, how pitiable, how pal- 
 try ! What cheap martyrdom ! If an impostor, 
 had the game been worth the candle ? — Death 
 seemed a coin of high value for this short, van- 
 ished comedy. The man alone could answer, for 
 the truth might not be known save by the knowl- 
 edge that comes with the end of all. 
 
 She looked at the Cur^, where he knelt praying, 
 and wondered how much of this tragedy the 
 anxious priest would lay at his own door. 
 
 " It is no tragedy, dear Cur6," Valmond said 
 suddenly, as if following her thoughts. 
 
 " My son, it is all tragedy until you have shown 
 me your heart, that I may send you forth in 
 peace." 
 
 He had forgotten Madame Chalice's presence, 
 and she sat very still. 
 
 "Even for our dear Lagroin," Valmond con- 
 tinued, "it was no tragedy. He was fighting for 
 the cause, not for a poor fellow like me. As a 
 soldier loves to die, he died — in the dream of his 
 youth, sword in hand." 
 
 "You loved the cause, my son?" was the 
 troubled question. " You were all honest ? "
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 209 
 
 Valmond made as if he would rise on his elbow. 
 
 in excitement, but the Cur6 put him gently back. 
 
 "From a child I loved it, dear Cur6," was the 
 quick reply. " Listen, and I will tell you all my 
 story." 
 
 He composed himself, and his face took on a 
 warm light, giving it a pathetic look of happiness. 
 
 "The very first thing I remember was sitting on 
 the sands of the sea-shore, near some woman who 
 put her arms round me, and drew me to her heart. 
 I seem even to recall her face now, though I never 
 could before — do we see things clearer when we 
 come to die, I wonder ? I never saw her again. 
 I was brought up by my parents, who were humble 
 peasants, on an estate near Viterbo, in Italy. I 
 was taught in the schools, and I made friends 
 among my schoolfellows ; but that was all the 
 happiness I had ; for my parents were strict and 
 hard with me, and showed me no love. At twelve 
 I was taken to Rome, and there I entered the house 
 of Prince Lucien Bonaparte, as page. I was al- 
 ways near the person of his highness." 
 
 He paused, at sight of a sudden pain in the 
 Curb's face. Sighing, he continued : 
 
 " I travelled with him to France, to Austria, to 
 England, where I learned to speak the language, 
 and read what the English wrote about the great 
 Napoleon. Their hatred angered me, and I began 
 to study what French and Italian books said of 
 him. I treasured up every scrap of knowledge I 
 could get. I listened to all that was said in the 
 U
 
 2IO WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 prince's palace, and I was glad when his highness 
 let me read aloud private papers to him. From 
 these I learned the secrets of the great family. 
 The prince was seldom gentle with me — some- 
 times almost brutal, yet he would scarcely let me 
 out of his sight. I had little intercourse then with 
 the other servants, and less still when I was old 
 enough to become a valet ; and a valet I was to 
 the prince for twelve years." 
 
 The Cure's hand clasped the arm of his chair, 
 nervously. His lips moved, but he said nothing 
 aloud, and he glanced quickly towards Madame 
 Chalice, who sat motionless, her face flushed, her 
 look fixed on Valmond. So, he was the mere im- 
 postor after all — a valet ! Fate had won the toss- 
 up ; not faith, or friendship, or any good thing. 
 
 " All these years," Valmond continued pres- 
 ently, his voice growing weaker, "I fed on such 
 food as is not often within the reach of valets. 
 I knew as much of the Bonapartes, of Napoleonic 
 history, as the prince himself ; so much so that he 
 often asked me of some date or fact of which he 
 was not sure. In time, I became almost like a 
 private secretary to him. I lived in a dream for 
 years ; for I had poetry, novels, paintings, music, 
 at my hand all the time, and the prince, at the 
 end, changed greatly, was affectionate indeed, and 
 said he would do good things for me. I became 
 familiar with all the intrigues, the designs of the 
 Bonapartes ; and what I did not know was told 
 me by Prince Pierre, who was near my own age.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 211 
 
 and who used me always more like a friend than 
 a servant. 
 
 " One day the prince was visited by Count 
 Bertrand, who was with the Emperor in his exile, 
 and I heard him speak of a thing unknown to 
 history: that Napoleon had a son, born at St. 
 Helena, by a countess well known in Europe. 
 She had landed, disguised as a sailor, from a mer- 
 chant ship, and lived in retirement at Longwood, 
 for near a year. After the Emperor died the thing 
 was discovered, but the governor of the island 
 made no report of it to the British Government, 
 for that would have reflected on himself ; and the 
 returned exiles kept the matter a secret. It was 
 said that the child died at St. Helena. The story 
 remained in my mind, and I brooded on it. 
 
 " Two years ago the prince died in my arms. 
 When he was gone, I found that I had been left 
 five hundred thousand francs, a chateau, and sev- 
 eral relics of the Bonapartes, as reward for my 
 services to the prince, and, as the will said, in 
 token of the love he had come to bear me. To 
 these Prince Pierre added a number of mementos. 
 I went to visit my parents, whom I had not seen 
 for many years. I found that my mother was 
 dead, that my father was a drunkard. Leaving 
 money for my father with the mayor, I sailed for 
 England. From England I came to New York ; 
 from New York to Quebec. All the time I was 
 restless, unhappy. I had had to work all my life, 
 now I had nothing to do. I had lived close to great
 
 212 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 traditions, now there was no habit of life to keep 
 them alive in me. I spent money freely, but it 
 gave me no pleasure. I once was a valet to a 
 great man, now I had the income of a gentleman, 
 and was no gentleman. Ah, do you not shrink 
 from me, Monsieur le Cur6 ? " 
 
 The Cur6 did not reply, but made a kindly ges- 
 ture, and Valmond continued : 
 
 " Sick of everything, one day I left Quebec hur- 
 riedly. Why I came here I do not know, save that 
 I had heard it was near the mountains, was quiet, 
 and I could be at peace. There was something in 
 me which could not be content in the foolishness of 
 idle life. All the time I kept thinking — thinking. 
 If I were only a Napoleon, how I would try to do 
 great things ! Ah, my God ! How I loved the 
 Great Napoleon ! What had the Bonapartes done ? 
 Nothing — nothing. Everything had slipped eway 
 from them. Not one of them was like the Em- 
 peror. His own legitimate son was dead. None 
 of the others had the Master's blood, fire, daring 
 in his veins. The thought grew on me, and I used 
 to imagine myself his son. I loved his memory, all 
 he did, all he was, better than any son could do. It 
 had been my whole life, thinking of him and the 
 Empire, while I brushed the prince's clothes or 
 combed his hair. Why should such tastes be given 
 to a valet ? Some one somewhere was to blame, 
 dear Cur6. 
 
 " I really did not conceive or plan imposture, I 
 was only playing a comedian's part in front of the
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 21 3 
 
 Louis Quinze, till I heard Parpon sing a verse of 
 ' Vive Napoleon ! ' Then it all rushed on me, 
 captured me — and the rest you know." 
 
 The Cur^ could not trust himself to speak yet. 
 
 " I had not thought to go so far when I began. It 
 was mostly a whim. But the idea gradually pos- 
 sessed me, and at last it seemed to me that I was 
 a real Napoleon. I used to wake from the dream 
 for a moment, and I tried to stop, but something in 
 my blood drove me on — inevitably. You were all 
 good to me ; you nearly all believed in me. Lagroin 
 came — and so it has gone on till now, till now. I 
 had a feeling what the end would be. But I should 
 have had my dream, I should have died for the 
 cause as no Napoleon or Bonaparte, ever died. 
 Like a man, I would pay the penalty Fate should 
 set. What more could I do ? If a man gives all he 
 has, is not that enough ? . . . There is my 
 whole story. Now I shall ask your pardon, dear 
 Curd." 
 
 " You must ask pardon of God, my son," said 
 the priest, his looks showing the anguish he felt. 
 
 " The Little Chemist said two hours, but I feel " 
 — his voice got very faint — " I feel that he is mis- 
 taken." 
 
 The Curd made ready to read the office for the 
 dying. "My son," he said, "do you truly and 
 earnestly repent you of your sins ? " 
 
 Valmond's eyes suddenly grew misty, his 
 breathing heavier. He scarcely seemed to com- 
 prehend.
 
 214 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " I have paid the price, I have loved you all — 
 Parpen — where are yoii ? — Elise ! " 
 
 A moment of silence, and then his voice rang 
 out with a sort of sob. " Ah, madame," he said 
 chokingly, " dear madame, for you I " 
 
 Madame Chalice arose with a little cry, for she 
 knew whom he meant, and her heart ached for 
 him : she forgot his imposture — everything. 
 
 " Ah, dear, dear monsieur ! " she said brokenly. 
 
 He knew her voice, he heard her coming ; his 
 eyes opened wide, and he raised himself on the 
 couch with a start. The effort loosened the band- 
 age at his neck, and blood gushed out on his 
 bosom. 
 
 With a convulsive motion he drew up the cover- 
 let to his chin, to hide the red stream, and said 
 gaspingly : 
 
 " Pardon, madame." 
 
 Then a shudder passed through him, and with a 
 last effort to spare her the sight of his ensanguined 
 body, he fell face downward, voiceless forever. 
 
 The very earth seemed breathing. Long waves 
 of heat palpitated over the harvest fields, and the 
 din of the locust drove lazily through. The far 
 cry of the kingfisher, and the idly clacking wheels 
 of carts rolling down from Dalgrothe Mountain, 
 gave accent to the drowsy melody of the after- 
 noon. The wild mustard glowed so like a golden 
 carpet, that the destroying hand of the anxious 
 husbandman seemed of the blundering tyranny
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 21 5 
 
 of labor : yet Fate, the sure-reaping farmer, was 
 this day mercilessly uprooting tares in the good 
 meadow of life. 
 
 Whole fields were flaunting with poppies, too 
 gay for sorrow to pass that way ; but a blind girl, 
 led by a little child, made a lane through the red 
 luxuriance, hurrying to the place where vanity, 
 and valor, and the remnant of an unfulfilled man- 
 hood, lay beaten to death. Destiny, which is 
 stronger than human love or the soul's fidelity, 
 had overmastered self-sacrifice and the heart of 
 woman. This woman had opened her eyes upon 
 the world again, only to find it all night, all strange ; 
 she was captive of a great darkness. 
 
 As she broke through the hedge of lilacs by the 
 Curb's house, the crowd of awe-stricken people fell 
 back, opening a path for her to the door. She 
 moved as one unconscious of the troubled life and 
 the vibrating world about her. 
 
 The hand of the child let her into the chamber 
 of death ; the door closed, and she stood motion- 
 less. 
 
 The Cure made as if to rise and go towards her, 
 but Madame Chalice, sitting sorrowful and dis- 
 mayed at the foot of the couch, by a motion of her 
 hand, stopped him. 
 
 The girl paused a moment, listening. " Mon- 
 sieur," she said, leaning forward. It was as if a 
 soul leaned out of the casement of life, calling into 
 the dark, and the silence which may not be com- 
 prehended by mortal man.
 
 2l6 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 " Monsieur — Valmond ! " 
 
 Her trembling hands were stretched out before 
 her yearningly. The Cur6 moved. She turned 
 towards the sound with a pitiful vagueness. 
 
 " Valmond, oh Valmond ! " she cried again be- 
 seechingly. 
 
 The cloak dropped from her shoulders, and the 
 loose robe enveloping her fell away from a bosom 
 that throbbed with the stifling passion of a great 
 despair. 
 
 Nothing but silence. 
 
 She moved to the wall like a little child feeling 
 its way, ran her hand along it, and touched a cru- 
 cifix. With a moan she pressed her lips to the 
 nailed feet, and came on gropingly to the couch. 
 She reached down towards it, but drew back as if 
 in affright ; for a dumb, desolating fear was upon 
 her. 
 
 But with that direful courage which is the last 
 gift to the hopeless, she stretched forth again, 
 and her fingers touched Valmond's cold hands. 
 They ran up his breast, to his neck, to his face, 
 and fondled it, as only life can fondle death, 
 out of that pitiful hunger which never can be 
 satisfied in this world ; and then moved with an 
 infinite tenderness to his eyes, now blind like 
 hers, and lingered there in the kinship of eternal 
 loss. 
 
 A low, anguished cry broke from her : 
 
 "Valmond — my love! my love !" and she fell 
 forward upon the breast of her lost Napoleon.
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 217 
 
 When the people gathered again in the little 
 church upon the hill, Valmond and his great adven- 
 ture had become almost a legend, so soon are men 
 and events lost in the distance of death and ruin. 
 
 The Cure preached, as he had always done, with 
 a simple, practical solicitude ; but towards the end 
 of his brief sermon he paused, and, with a grave 
 tenderness of voice, said: 
 
 " My children, vanity is the bane of mankind ; 
 it destroys as many souls as self-sacrifice saves ! 
 It is the constant temptation of the human heart. 
 I have ever warned you against it, as I myself 
 have prayed to be kept from its devices — alas ! at 
 times, how futilely ! Vanity leads to imposture, 
 and imposture to the wronging of others. But if 
 a man repent, and yield all he has, to pay the high 
 price of his bitter mistake, he may thereby redeem 
 himself even in this world. If he give his life, re- 
 penting, and if the giving stays the evil he might 
 have wrought, shall we be less merciful than God? 
 
 " My children " (he did not mention Valmond's 
 nam.e), " his last act was manly ; his death was 
 beautiful ; his sin was forgiven. Those rifle bul- 
 lets that brought him down, let out all the evil in 
 his blood. 
 
 " We have, my people, been delivered from a 
 grave error. Forgetting — save for our souls' wel- 
 fare — the misery of this vanity which led us astray 
 let us remember with gladness all of him that wa* 
 commendable in our eyes : his kindness, eloquence, 
 generous heart, courage, and love of Mother-
 
 21 8 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 Church. He lies in our graveyard ; he is ours ; 
 and, being ours, let us protect his memory, as 
 though he had not sought us a stranger, but was of 
 us : of our homes, as of our love, and of our sorrow. 
 " And so atoning for our sins, as did he, may we 
 at last come to the perfect pardon, and to peace 
 everlasting."
 
 Epilog 
 
 ue 
 
 I. 
 
 (EXTRACT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY MADAME 
 CHALICE TO MONSIEUR FABRE, CURE OF PON- 
 TIAC, TWO MONTHS AFTER VALMOND'S DEATH.) 
 
 "... And here, dear Cure, you shall have 
 my justification for writing you two letters in one 
 week, though I would make the accident a habit 
 if I were sure it would more please you than per- 
 plex you. 
 
 " Prince Pierre, son of Prince Lucien Bonaparte, 
 arrived in New York two days ago, and yesterday 
 morning he came to the Atlantic Bank, and asked 
 for my husband. When he made known his busi- 
 ness, Harry sent for me that I might speak with 
 him. 
 
 " Dear Cur^, hearts and instincts were right in 
 Pontiac : our unhappy friend Valmond was that 
 child of Napoleon, born at St. Helena, of whom he 
 himself spoke at his death in your home. His 
 mother was the Countess of Carnstadt. At the 
 beginning of an illness which followed Napoleon's 
 death, the child was taken from her by Prince 
 Lucien Bonaparte, and was brought up and edu-
 
 220 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 cated as the son of poor peasants in Italy. No one 
 knew of his birth save the companions in exile of 
 the Great Emperor. All of them, with the excep- 
 tion of Count Bertrand, believed, as Valmond said, 
 that the child had died in infant y at St. Helena. 
 
 "Prince Lucien had sworn to the mother that he 
 would care personally for the child, and he fulfilled 
 his promise by making him a page in his house- 
 hold, and afterwards a valet — a base redemption 
 of the vow. 
 
 " But, even as Valmond drew our hearts to him, 
 so at last he won Prince Lucien's, as he had from 
 the first won Prince Pierre's. 
 
 "It was not until after Vaimond's death, when re- 
 ceiving the residue of our poor friend's estate, that 
 Prince Pierre learned the truth from Count Ber- 
 trand. He immediately set sail for New York, and 
 next week he will secretly visit you, for love of the 
 dead man, and to thank you and our dear avocat, 
 together with all others who believed in and be- 
 friended his unfortunate kinsman. 
 
 " Ah, dear Cur^, think of the irony of it all ! — 
 that a man be driven, by the very truth in his 
 blood, to that strangest of all impostures — to im- 
 personate himself! He did it too well to be the 
 mere comedian. I felt that all the time. I shall 
 show his relics now with more pride than sorrow. 
 
 "Prince Pierre dines with us to-night. He looks 
 as if he had the Napoleonic daring — or rashness 
 — but I am sure he has not the good heart of our 
 Valmond Napoleon. . . ."
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 221 
 II. 
 
 The haymakers paused and leaned upon their 
 forks, children left the strawberry vines and climbed 
 upon the fences, as the coach from the distant city 
 dashed down the street towards the four corners, 
 and the welcoming hotel, with its big dormer win- 
 dows and well-carved veranda. As it whirled by, 
 the driver shouted something at a stalwart forgeron, 
 standing at the doorway of his smithy, and he 
 passed it on to a loitering mealman and a lime- 
 burner. 
 
 A girl came slowly over the crest of a hill. Feel- 
 ing her way with a stick, she paused now and then 
 to draw in long breaths of sweet air from the 
 meadows, as if in the joy of Nature, she found a 
 balm for the cruelties of Destiny. 
 
 Presently a puff of smoke shot out from the hill- 
 side where she stood, and the sound of an old can- 
 non followed. From the Seigneury, far over, came 
 an answering report ; and tricolors ran fluttering 
 up on flag-staffs, at the four corners, and in the 
 Curb's garden. 
 
 The girl stood wondering, her fine, calm face 
 expressing the quick thoughts which had belonged 
 to eyes once so full of hope and blithe desire. The 
 serenity of her life — its charity, its truth, its cheerful 
 care for others, the confidence of the young which 
 it invited, showed in all the aspect of her. She 
 heard the flapping of the flag in the Curb's gar- 
 den, and turned her darkened eyes towards it. A
 
 222 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC 
 
 look of pain crossed her face, and a hand trembled 
 to her bosom, as if to ease a great throbbing of her 
 heart. These cannon shots and this shivering pen- 
 nant brought back a scene at the four corners, 
 eight years before. 
 
 Footsteps came over the hill : she knev\^ them, 
 and turned. 
 
 " Parpon ! " she said, with a glad gesture. 
 
 Without a word he placed in her hand a bunch 
 of violets that he carried. She lifted them to her 
 lips. 
 
 "What is it all?" she asked, turning again to 
 the tricolor. 
 
 " Louis Napoleon enters the Tuileries to-day," 
 he answered. 
 
 " Ours was the son of the Great Emperor," she 
 said. " Let us be going, Parpon ; we will lay these 
 violets on his grave." She pressed the flowers to 
 her heart. 
 
 " France would have loved him, as did we," said 
 the dwarf, as they moved onward. 
 
 " As do we," the blind girl answered softly. 
 
 Their figures against the setting sun took on a 
 strange burnished radiance, so that they seemed as 
 mystical pilgrims journeying into a golden haze, 
 which shut them out from view beyond the hill, as 
 the Angelus sounded from the tower of the ancient 
 church. 
 
 THE END.
 
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