ing an amateur firework
display, which was true enough, but the display cost the lives of
three men, and intentionally so. I cheered up the citizen in the
moment of his utmost despair, and brought such proof of his innocence
to the knowledge of those above me that he was most reluctantly
acquitted. To this man I now went with my measurement of the bomb and
the estimate of its weight.

'Sir,' said I, 'do you remember Eugene Valmont?'

'Am I ever likely to forget him?' he replied, with a fervour that
pleased me.

'He has sent me to you, and implores you to aid me, and that aid will
wipe out the debt you owe him.'

'Willingly, willingly,' cried the artisan, 'so long as it has nothing
to do with the anarchists or the making of bombs.'

'It has to do exactly with those two things. I wish you to make an
innocent bomb which will prevent an anarchist outrage.'

At this the little man drew back, and his face became pale.

'It is impossible,' he protested; 'I have had enough of innocent
bombs. No, no, and in any case how can I be sure you come from Eugene
Valmont? No, monsieur, I am not to be trapped the second time.'

At this I related rapidly all that Valmont had done for him, and even
repeated Valmont's most intimate conversation with him. The man was
nonplussed, but remained firm.

'I dare not do it,' he said.

We were alone in his back shop. I walked to the door and thrust in the
bolt; then, after a moment's pause, turned round, stretched forth my
right hand dramatically, and cried,--'Behold, Eugene Valmont!'

My friend staggered against the wall in his amazement, and I continued
in solemn tones,--'Eugene Valmont, who by this removal of his disguise
places his life in your hands as your life was in his. Now, monsieur,
what will you do?'

He replied,--'Monsieur Valmont, I shall do whatever you ask. If I
refused a moment ago, it was because I thought there was now in France
no Eugene Valmont to rectify my mistake if I made one.'

I resumed my disguise, and told him I wished an innocent substitute
for this picric bomb, and he at once suggested an earthenware globe,
which would weigh the same as the bomb, and which could be coloured to
resemble it exactly.

'And now, Monsieur Valmont, do you wish smoke to issue from this
imitation bomb?'

'Yes,' I said, 'in such quantity as you can compress within it.'

'It is easily done,' he cried, with the enthusiasm of a true French
artist. 'And may I place within some l