234
XXII. Home 245
XXIII. Wrecked 256
XXIV. An Explanation 267
XXV. Paris Again 277
XXVI. Above the Snow Line 289
XXVII. The Hand of God 300
XXVIII. The Links 312
XXIX. At La Pauline 324

Chapter I

Mushrooms

"La celebrite est comme le feu, qui brule de pres et
illumine de loin."

Under a glorious sky, in the year 1869, Paris gathered to rejoice in
the centenary of the birth of the First Napoleon. A gathering this of
mushroom nobility, soldiery and diplomacy, to celebrate the hundredth
anniversary of the greatest mushroom that ever sprang to life in the
hotbed of internecine strife.

"Adventurers all," said John Turner, the great Paris banker, with whom
I was in the Church of the Invalides; "and yonder," he added,
indicating the Third Napoleon, "is the cleverest."

We had pushed our way into the gorgeous church, and now rubbed elbows
with some that wore epaulettes on peaceful shoulders. There were
ladies present, too. Did not the fair beings contribute to the rise
and fall of that marvellous Second Empire? Representatives of almost
every European power paid homage that day to the memory of a little
Corsican officer of artillery.

As for me, I went from motives of curiosity, as, no doubt, went many
others, if indeed all had so good a call. In my neighbourhood, for
instance, stood a stout gentleman in court uniform, who wept aloud
whenever the organ permitted his grief to be audible.

"Who is that?" I inquired of my companion.

"A Legitimist, who would perhaps accept a Napoleonic post," replied
John Turner, in his stout and simple way.

"And is he weeping because the man who was born a hundred years ago is
dead?"

"No! He is weeping because that man's nephew may perchance note his
emotion."

One could never tell how dense or how acute John Turner really was.
His round, fat face was always immobile and fleshy--no wrinkle, no
movement of lip or eyelid, ever gave the cue to his inmost thought. He
was always good-natured and indifferent--a middle-aged bachelor who
had found life not hollow, but full--of food.

Nature having given me long legs (wherewith to give the slip to my
responsibilities, and also to the bailiffs, as many of my female
relatives have enjoyed saying), I could look over the heads of the
majority of people present,