besides those who came
every night to drill, there were others who stayed always in camp. The
lime-burner left his kiln, and sojourned with his dogs at Dalgrothe
Mountain; the mealman neglected his trade; and Lajeunesse was no longer
at his blacksmith shop, save after dark, when the red glow of his forge
could be seen till midnight. He was captain of a company in the daytime,
forgeron at night.

Valmond, no longer fantastic in dress, speech, or manner, was happy,
busy, buoyed up and cast down by turn, troubled, exhilarated. He could
not understand these variations of health and mood. He had not felt
equably well since the night of Gabriel's burial in the miasmic air of
the mountain. At times he felt a wonderful lightness of head and heart,
with entrancing hopes; again a heaviness and an aching, accompanied by
a feeling of doom. He fought the depression, and appeared before his
men cheerful and alert always. He was neither looking back nor looking
forward, but living in his dramatic theme from day to day, and wondering
if, after all, this movement, by some joyful, extravagant chance, might
not carry him on even to the chambers of the Tuileries.

From the first day that he had gathered these peasants about him, had
convinced, almost against their will, the wise men of the village,
this fanciful exploit had been growing a deep reality to him. He had
convinced himself; he felt that he could, in a larger sphere, gather
thousands about him where he now gathered scores--with a good cause.
Well, was his cause not good, he asked himself?

There were others to whom this growing reality was painful. The young
Seigneur was serious enough about it, and more than once, irritated and
perturbed, he sought Madame Chalice; but she gave him no encouragement,
remarking coldly that Monsieur Valmond probably knew very well what he
was doing, and was weighing all consequences.

She had become interested in a passing drama, and De la Riviere's
attentions produced no impression on her, and gave her no pleasure. They
were, however, not obtrusive. She had seen much of him two years
before; he had been a good friend of her husband. She was amused at
his attentions then; she had little to occupy her, and she felt herself
superior to any man's emotions: not such as this young Seigneur could
win her away from her passive but certain fealty. She had played with
fire, from the very spirit of adventure in her, but she had not been
burnt.

"You say