utside, many had gathered round Medallion. The auctioneer, who liked
the unique thing and was not without tact, having the gift of humour,
took on himself the office of inquisitor, even as there rose again
little snatches of "Vive Napoleon" from the crowd. He approached
Valmond, who was moving on towards the Louis Quinze, with appreciation
of a time for disappearing.

"We know you, sir," said Medallion, "as Monsieur Valmond; but there
are those who think you would let us address you by a name better
known--indeed, the name dear to all Frenchmen. If it be so, will you
not let us call you Napoleon" (he took off his hat, and Valmond did the
same), "and will you tell us what we may do for you?"

Madame Chalice, a little way off, watched Valmond closely. He stood a
moment in a quandary, yet he was not outwardly nervous, and he answered
presently, with an air of empressement:

"Monsieur, my friends, I am in the hands of fate. I am dumb. Fate speaks
for me. But we shall know each other better; and I trust you, who, as
Frenchmen, descended from a better day in France, will not betray me.
Let us be patient till Destiny strikes the hour." Now for the first time
to-day Valmond saw Madame Chalice.

She could have done no better thing to serve him than to hold out her
hand, and say in her clear tones, which had, too, a fascinating sort of
monotony:

"Monsieur, if you are idle Friday afternoon, perhaps you will bestow
on me a half-hour at the Manor; and I will try to make half mine no bad
one."

He was keen enough to feel the delicacy of the point through the
deftness of the phrase; and what he said and what he did now had no
pose, but sheer gratitude. With a few gracious words to Medallion, she
bowed and drove away, leaving Valmond in the midst of an admiring crowd.

He was launched on an adventure as whimsical as tragical, if he was
an impostor; and if he was not, as pathetic as droll. He was scarcely
conscious that Parpon walked beside him, till the dwarf said:

"Hold on, my dauphin, you walk too fast for your poor fool."

CHAPTER V

From this hour Valmond was carried on by a wave of fortune. Before
vespers on that Sunday night, it was common talk that he was a true son
of the Great Napoleon, born at St. Helena.

Why did he come to Pontiac? He wished to be in retirement till his
friends, acting for him in France, gave him the signal, and then with a
small army of French-Canadians he would land in France. Thousan