his too proud ambition, behind which was his great love
of country; and how, for chastening, God turned upon him violently and
tossed him like a ball into the wide land of exile, from which he came
out no more.

"But," continued the calm voice, "his spirit, stripped of the rubbish of
this quarrelsome world, and freed from the spite of foes, comes out from
exile and lives in our France to-day--for she is still ours, though we
find peace and bread to eat, under another flag. And in these troubled
times, when France needs a man, even as a barren woman a child to be the
token of her womanhood, it may be that one sprung from the loins of
the Great Napoleon may again give life to the principle which some have
sought to make into a legend. Even as the deliverer came out of obscure
Corsica, so from some outpost of France, where the old watchwords still
are called, may rise another Napoleon, whose mission will be civic glory
and peace alone, the champion of the spirit of France, defending it
against the unjust. He shall be fastened as a nail in a sure place, as a
glorious throne to his father's house."

He leaned over the pulpit, and, pausing, looked down at his
congregation. Then, all at once, he was aware that he had created a
profound impression. Just in front of him, his eyes burning with a
strange fire, sat Monsieur Valmond. Parpon, beside him, hung over the
back of a seat, his long arms stretched out, his hands applauding in a
soundless way. Beneath the sword of Louis the Martyr, the great treasure
of the parish, presented to this church by Marie Antoinette, sat
Monsieur Garon, his thin fingers pressed to his mouth as if to stop a
sound. Presently, out of pure spontaneity, there ran through the church
like a soft chorus:

"O, say, where goes your love?
O gai, vive le roi!
He wears a silver sword,
Vive Napoleon!"

The thing was unprecedented. Who had started it? Afterwards some said it
was Parpon, the now chosen comrade--or servant--of Valmond, who, people
said, had given himself up to the stranger, body and soul; but no one
could swear to that. Shocked, and taken out of his dream, the Cure
raised his hand against the song. "Hush, hush, my children!" he said.
"Hush, I command you!"

It was the sight of the upraised hands, more than the Cure's voice,
which stilled the outburst. Those same hands had sprinkled the holy
water in the sacrament of baptism, had blessed man and maid at