THE WOMAN IN THE DIMITY GOWN. 
4°3 
i( The Emperor/’ he said, to the men before 
him, “ never forgets those who fight for 
France.” 
He waited a moment. If he expected a 
great burst of enthusiasm, none came. His 
brow was black as he reached the cottage, 
his lips compressed. At the door Marie- 
( laire met him. She bent to him — curtsied, 
not as a village girl might, not as Josephine’s 
newly-ennobled ladies did, to the Emperor’s 
daily annoyance, but as a gentlewoman of 
the old regime might have done. Napoleon 
remarked the trifle — was arrested by it. 
“ This is the house of ? ” he began. 
Marie-Claire had to try twice before she 
could answer. 
“ Of the Lieutenant Vachoux, your 
Majesty/’ she said ; and then she looked up 
at the imperious eyes staring down at her — 
looked up with an appealing gesture. “ He 
is old, Sire, the Lieutenant Vachoux/’ she 
went on. lie is blind. He lost the use of 
his legs at Lodi. Your Majesty has not a 
more loyal ” 
Napoleon cut her short. 
{£ And who are you ? ” he jerked out. 
“ I am,” replied Marie-Claire, and the 
colour came into her cheeks — “ 1 am the ser — 
the lieutenant’s adopted niece, your Majesty.” 
u And your own father ? ” pursued the 
Emperor. 
“ A comrade at Lodi. Killed in that battle.” 
Napoleon turned as she finished speaking. 
He pushed past her. He walked towards the 
window. The old man, with the sightless 
eyes, was doubling back his ear with one 
hand to listen for the step. The other hand 
was up at the salute ; the wasted cheeks were 
pink with excitement ; the thin, blue lips, 
do what the veteran would to keep them stiff, 
were quivering, 
“ Vive VEmpereur i ” Vachoux tried to cry, 
but his voice broke, and the salutation ended 
in a shrill scream. 
Yet Napoleon heard what was in that cry ; 
knew that it contained just what those he 
had been listening to lacked. He walked 
briskly forward. 
