ughty swordsman, Monsieur Le Truc de Ruffec, also came
to see the old antiquary on one occasion, and acquainted him with a plan
he had on foot. Monsieur Le Truc de Ruffec was getting up a little
historical exhibition of small arms at the Petit Palais in aid of the
fund for the education of the native children in Morocco and wanted Pere
Guinardon to lend him a few of the most valuable articles in his
collection.

"Our first idea," he said, "was to organise an exhibition to be called
'The Cross and the Sword.' The juxtaposition of the two words will make
the idea which has prompted our undertaking sufficiently clear to you.
It was an idea pre-eminently patriotic and Christian which led us to
associate the Sword, which is the symbol of Honour, with the Cross,
which is the symbol of Salvation. It was hoped that our work would be
graced by the distinguished patronage of the Minister of War and
Monseigneur Cachepot. Unfortunately there were difficulties in the way,
and the full realisation of the project had to be deferred. In the
meantime we are limiting our exhibition to 'The Sword.' I have drawn up
an explanatory note indicating the significance of the demonstration."

Having delivered himself of these remarks, Monsieur Le Truc de Ruffec
produced a pocket-case stuffed full of papers. Picking out from a medley
of judgment summonses and other odds and ends a little piece of very
crumpled paper, he exclaimed, "Ah, here it is," and proceeded to read as
follows: "'The Sword is a fierce Virgin; it is _par excellence_ the
Frenchman's weapon. And now, when patriotic sentiment, after suffering
an all too protracted eclipse, is beginning to shine forth again more
ardently than ever ...' and so forth; you see?"

And he repeated his request for some really fine specimen to be placed
in the most conspicuous position in the exhibition to be held on behalf
of the little native children of Morocco, of which General d'Esparvieu
was to be honorary President.

Arms and armour were by no means Pere Guinardon's strong point. He dealt
principally in pictures, drawings, and books. But he was never to be
taken unawares. He took down a rapier with a gilt colander-shaped hilt,
a highly typical piece of workmanship of the Louis XIII-Napoleon III
period, and presented it to the exhibition promoter, who, while
contemplating it with respect, maintained a diplomatic silence.

"I have something better still in here," said the antiquary, and he
produ