e, beer, and daschunds; and this shall be written Napoleon IV!
Ye gods, what farce, comedy, vaudeville! But, there was always that
hope: if he found the money he would divide it. So, kowtow, kowtow!
Opera bouffe!"

Breitmann shuddered. M. Ferraud, feeling that shudder under his hand,
relaxed his shoulders. He had won!

"An empire! Will you believe it?"

"I suggest the eagle rampant on a sausage!"

"No, no; the lily on the beer-pot!"

The scene went on. The butt of it heard jest and ridicule. They were
pillorying him with the light and matchless cruelty of wits. And he,
poor fool, had believed them to be _his_ dupes, whereas he was
_theirs_! Gently he disengaged himself from M. Ferraud's grasp.

"What are you going to do?" whispered the hunter of butterflies.

"Watch and see."

Breitmann walked noiselessly round to the entrance, and M. Ferraud lost
sight of him for a few moments. Picard was on his feet, mimicking his
dupe by assuming a Napoleonic pose. The door opened and Breitmann
stood quietly on the threshold. A hush fell on the revelers. There
was something kingly in the contempt with which Breitmann swept the
startled faces. He stepped up to the table, took up a full glass of
wine and threw it into Picard's face.

"Only one of us shall leave Corsica," said the dupe.

"Certainly it will not be your majesty," replied Picard, wiping his
face with a serviette. "His majesty will waive his rights to meet me.
To-morrow morning I shall have the pleasure of writing finis to this
Napoleonic phase. You fool, you shall die for that!"

"That," returned Breitmann, still unruffled as he went to the door,
"remains to be seen. Gentlemen, I regret to say that your monetary
difficulties must continue unchanged."

"Oh, for fifty years ago!" murmured the little scene-shifter from the
dark of his shelter.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF THE DREAM

It took place on the road which runs from Ajaccio to the _Cap de la
Parata_, not far from _Iles Sanguinaires_; not a main-traveled road.
The sun had not yet crossed the mountains, but a crisp gray light lay
over land and sea. They fired at the same time. The duke lowered his
pistol, and through the smoke he saw Breitmann pitch headforemost into
the thick white dust. Presently, nay almost instantly, the dust at the
left side of the stricken man became a creeping blackness. The surgeon
sprang forward.

"Dead?" asked Picard.

"No! through the shoulder.