ph, Lucien, Louis, Jerome, Caroline, Eliza, Pauline--all!
I have seen them every one. And their children--pah! Who can deceive
me? I will go to Pontiac, I will see to this tomfoolery. I'll bring the
rascal to the drumhead. Does he think there is no one? Pish! I will
spit him at the first stroke. Here, here, Manette," he cried to his
grand-daughter; "fetch out my uniform, give it an airing, and see to the
buttons. I will show this brag how one of the Old Guard looked at
Saint Jean. Quick, Manette, my sabre polish; I'll clean my musket,
and to-morrow I will go to Pontiac. I'll put the scamp through his
facings--but yes! I am eighty, but I have an arm of thirty." True to
his word, the next morning at daybreak he started to walk to Pontiac,
accompanied for a mile or so by Manette and a few of the villagers.

"See you, my child," he said, "I will stay with my niece, Desire
Malboir, and her daughter Elise, there in Pontiac. You shall hear how I
fetch that vagabond to his potage!"

Valmond had purchased a tolerable white horse through Medallion. After
a day's grooming the beast showed off very well; and he was now seen
riding about the parish, dressed after the manner of the First Napoleon,
with a cocked hat and a short sword at his side. He rode well, and the
silver and pennies he scattered were most fruitful of effect from the
martial elevation. He happened to be riding into the village at one
end as Sergeant Lagroin entered it at the other, each going towards the
Louis Quinze. Valmond knew nothing of Sergeant Lagroin, so that what
followed was of the inspiration of the moment. It sprang from his
wit, and from his knowledge of Napoleon and the Napoleonic history, a
knowledge which had sent Monsieur Garon into tears of joy in his own
home, and afterwards off to the Manor House and also to the Seigneury,
full of praise of him.

Catching sight of the sergeant, the significance of the thing flashed
to his brain, and his course was mapped out on the instant. Sitting
very straight, Valmond rode steadily down towards the old soldier. The
sergeant had drawn notice as he came up the street, and people came to
their doors, and children followed the grey, dust-covered veteran, in
his last-century uniform. He came as far as the Louis Quinze, and then,
looking on up the road, he saw the white horse, the cocked hat, the
white waistcoat, and the long grey coat. He brought his stick down
smartly on the ground, drew himself up, squared his