r the bed."

"Keep it. No one will contest your right to it, Herman Stueler; and
besides, your French, fluent as it is, still possesses the Teutonic
burr. Yes, Herman Stueler; very good, indeed."

Hildegarde eyed them in wonder. Were they both mad?

"Will you be sure always to remember?" said M. Ferraud to the
bewildered woman. "Herman Stueler; Karl Breitmann, who was the great
grandson of Napoleon, died of a gunshot in Africa. If you will always
remember that, why even Paris will be possible some day."

Hildegarde was beginning to understand. She was coming to bless this
little man.

"I do not believe that the money under the bed is safe there. I shall,
if you wish, make arrangements with the local agents of the Credit
Legonnais to take over the sum, _without question_, and to issue you
two drafts, one on London and the other on New York, or in two letters
of credit. Two millions; it is a big sum to let repose under one's
bed, anywhere, let alone Corsica, where the amount might purchase half
the island."

"I am, then, a rich man; no more crusades, no more stale bread and
cheap tobacco, no more turning my cuffs and collars and clipping the
frayed edges of my trousers. I am fortunate. There is a joke, too.
Picard and his friends advanced me five thousand francs for the
enterprise."

"I marvel where they got it!"

"I am sorry that I was rough with you."

"I bear you not the slightest ill-will. I never have. Herman Stueler;
I must remember to have them make out the drafts in that name."

Breitmann appeared to be sleeping again. After waiting a moment or
two, his guardian-angel tiptoed out.

An hour went by.

"Hildegarde, have you any money?"

"Enough for my needs."

"Will you take half of it?"

"Karl!"

"Will you?"

"No!"

He accepted this as final. And immediately his gaze became fixed on
the bay. A sleek white ship was putting out to sea.

"They are leaving, Karl," she said, and the courage in her eyes beat
down the pain in her heart.

"In my coat, inside; bring them to me." As he could move only his
right arm and that but painfully, he bade her open each paper and hold
it so that he could read plainly. The scrawl of the Great Captain; a
deed and title; some dust dropping from the worn folds: how he strained
his eyes upon them. He could not help the swift intake of air, and the
stab which pierced his shoulder made him faint. She began to refold
them. "No," he whispered. "