combed his hair. Why should such tastes
be given to a valet? Some one somewhere was to blame, dear Cure.
I really did not conceive or plan imposture. I was only playing a
comedian's part in front of the 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 Cure 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 possessed 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 Cure."

"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 mistaken." He murmured a prayer, and crossed
himself thrice.

The Cure 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 comprehend.

"I have paid the price--I have loved you all. Parpon--where are
you?--Elise!"

A moment of silence, and then his voice rang out with a sort of sob.
"Ah, madame," he cried 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
bandage at his neck, and blood gushed out on his bosom.

With a convulsive motion he drew up the coverlet 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--for ever.