th, this
money 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, and Valmond appeared
to sleep.

Presently the avocat, thinking that he might wish to be alone with the
Cure, stepped quietly to 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, and 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
paltry! What cheap martyrdom! If an impostor, had the game been worth
the candle?--Death seemed a coin of high value for this short, vanished
comedy. The man alone could answer, for the truth might not be known,
save by the knowledge that comes with the end of all.

She looked at the Cure, 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 Cure" 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 continued, "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?"

Valmond made as if he would rise on his elbow, in excitement, but the
Cure put him gently back. "From a child I loved it, dear Cure," 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 look
of happiness almost.

"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, w