I am only a tradesman."

"Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who
during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able
to keep his excitement in check.

Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was
something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself
a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his
country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon.

But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his
news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further
words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and
stretched his short, thick legs out before him.

"My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto
Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for
we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at
Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the
way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see
him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the
soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning
directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and
dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the
finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you
shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ."

And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket
of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied
together with a piece of tape.

"You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling
fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it.
And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent.
Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand
and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out
upon the table.

Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph.

"His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction
born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips.

The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been
all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled
and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breat