ecognised, 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 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 worship 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 Napoleonic 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 anachronistic, from the lonely rock of St. Helena. A private
saying of Napoleon's, a word from his letters 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 Cure and the young Seigneur listened, and
there passed into their minds the same wonder that had perplexed Elise
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 Cure 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 in the house searching for a book. De
la Riviere, seeing the carriage first, got to his feet with instant
excitement, and the others turned to look. As it neared the house, the
Cure took off his baretta, and smiled expectantly, 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 impulsively, and
before any one could reach the gate was entering herself, her blue eyes
swimming with the warmth of a kind heart--or a warm temperament, 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 Cure, how glad I am
to see you once again! It is two years too long, dear C