ced at her own brown ones unconsciously.)
"And she spoke out, her eyes running with tears--and she all in pretty
silks, and a colour like a rose. She spoke out like this: 'Oh, if I
could only do something, something, some big thing! What is all this
silly coming and going to me, when I know, I know I might do it, if I
had the chance! O Harry, Harry, can't you see!'"

"Harry was her husband. Ah, what a fisherman was he!" said Parpon,
nodding. "What did she mean by doing 'big things'?" he added.

"How do I know?" she asked fretfully. "But Monsieur Valmond seems to me
like her, just the same."

"Monsieur Valmond is a great man," said Parpon slowly.

"You know!" she cried; "you know! Oh, tell me, what is he? Who is he?
Where does he come from? Why is he here? How long will he stay? Tell me,
how long will he stay?" She caught flutteringly at Parpon's shoulder.
"You remember what I sang the other night?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "Oh, how beautiful it was! Ah, Parpon,
why don't you sing for us oftener, and all the world would love you,
and--"

"I don't love the world," he retorted gruffly; "and I'll sing for the
devil" (she crossed herself) "as soon as for silly gossips in Pontiac."

"Well, well!" she asked; "what had your song to do with him, with
Monsieur Valmond?"

"Think hard, my dear," he said, with mystery in his look. Then, breaking
off: "Madame Chalice is coming back to-day; the Manor House is open, and
you should see how they fly round up there." He nodded towards the hill
beyond.

"Pontiac'll be a fine place by and by," she said, for she had village
patriotism deep in her veins. Had not her people lived there long before
the conquest by the English?

"But tell me, tell me what your song had to do with Monsieur," she urged
again. "It's a pretty song, but--"

"Think about it," he answered provokingly. "Adieu, my child!" he went on
mockingly, using Valmond's words, and catching both her hands as he had
done; then, springing upon a bench by the oven, he kissed her on both
cheeks. "Adieu, my child!" he said again, and, jumping down, trotted
away out into the road. Back to her, from the dust he made as he
shuffled away, there came the words:

"Gold and silver he will bring,
Vive le roi, la reine!
And eke the daughter of a king
Vive Napoleon!"

She went about her work, the song in her ears, and the words of the
refrain beat in and out, out and in: