yellow as old ivory. The entire figure was fantastic, even a
little grotesque, though after a pleasant fashion. In a mincing voice
and with a strong French accent, M. Achille Pincornet, dancing-master
and performer on the violin, intimated that he wished to vote for Mr.
Ludwell Cary. Lewis Rand glanced sharply up, then made a sign to a
sandy-haired and freckled man who, tally in hand, stood near him.

"I challenge that vote!" cried the man with the tally.

"Mr. Pincornet's vote is challenged!" shouted the sheriff.

"Order, order, gentlemen! Your reason, Mr. Mocket?"

"The gentleman is a Frenchman and not a citizen of the United States! He
is not even a citizen of the French Republic! He is an emigre. He has no
vote. Mark off his name!"

"Sir!" cried the challenged voter, "I am a de Pincornet, cadet of a
house well known in Gascony! If I left France, I left it to find a great
and free country, a country where one gentleman may serve another!"

A roar of laughter, led by Mocket, arose from the younger and lower sort
of Republicans. "But you do serve, Mr. Pincornet! You teach all the
'Well-born' how to dance!"

"Didn't you teach the Carys? They dance beautifully."

"Are brocaded coats still worn in Gascony?"

"_Ne sutor supra crepidam judicaret!_ Caper all you please on a waxed
floor, but leave Virginians to rule!"

Fairfax Cary, hot and angry, put in an oar. "Mr. Sheriff, Mr. Sheriff!
Mr. Pincornet has lived these twelve years in Albemarle! We have no more
respected, no more esteemed citizen. His vote's as good as any
man's--and rather better, I may remark, than that of some men!" He
looked pointedly at Mocket.

Lewis Rand gave his henchman a second guiding glance.

"It is merely," said Mocket promptly, "a question of that Alien Law of
which the 'Well-born' are so proud. Show your papers, Mr. Pincornet. If
you are a citizen of the United States, you have papers to show for it."

"Yes, sir," agreed the sheriff. "That's right, Mr. Mocket. Let me see
your papers, Mr. Pincornet."

"Papers, papers! I have no papers!" cried Mr. Pincornet.

"But every gentleman here--and I have no care for the canaille--knows
that I live in Albemarle, in a small house between Greenwood and
Fontenoy! I have lived there since I left France in the abhorred year of
'92, with tears of rage in my eyes! I came to this land, where, seeing
that I must eat, and that my dancing was always admired, I said to
myself, '_T'enez_, Achille, my