THE WOMAN IN THE DIMITY GOWN. 
407 
the Emperor will spare the old soldier who is 
loyal as perhaps all these who bask in the 
Imperial favour are not.” 
Napoleon heard. The very audacity of the 
speech kept him silent for a moment. 
“ You make fcerms with me, woman ! ” he 
cried out, when he could find his voice. 
“ You dare to make terms with me ! ” 
Marie-Claire smiled as if the game were in 
her hands, not in the small white ones being 
thrust restlessly in and out of the uniform 
coat. 
“ No, your Majesty/’ she answered. “ I am 
not so presumptuous. 1 leave the Sergeant 
Yachoux to your Majesty. I simply ask him 
if it seems good to him to take what I have to 
tell him as a fair exchange for an old cripple’s 
happiness. I came to St. Jean Pied de Port. 
I was endeavouring to escape to Spain,” 
“Then you are a pestilential, an SmigrSe ! ” 
“ I was flying for my life, your Majesty.” 
“ Sapristi! I knew it,” cried out Napoleon. 
“ I knew it as soon as you bent your knee 
to me.” 
“ It was a winter’s evening, your Majesty,” 
Marie-Claire went on. “ I was worn out. 
I could go no farther. In the cold, with the 
night drawing in, I lay down on the road to 
die. I was found by a smuggler. He brought 
me in to St. Jean Pied de Port. It may be 
he meant to make his peace with the autho- 
rities by giving me up. But while he waited 
just within the gate for the custom-house 
officers to arrive, he met a comrade. The 
two retired to the little inn, Le Tigre Rouge, 
just opposite the custom-house, to drink 
together. I waited my opportunity. I slipped 
off the mule. The darkness had fully come 
then. It was raining. I wandered into the 
street, not a soul was about. I staggered on, 
not daring to knock at any of the doors. 
At length the light from an uncurtained 
window attracted me. I looked in. At first 
I thought the room was empty ; then I saw 
an old man propped up in bed. I watched. 
I saw him grope with his hand for his stick. 
I realized that he was blind. I raised the 
latch of the door. I stole in. I sat down by 
the fire. My only thought as I entered was 
to rest awhile, and then to rise and go on. 
But while I waited the old man began to 
mutter aloud, talking to himself as those who 
are much alone do. He began to speak of 
a comrade killed at Lodi, of the dead man’s 
daughter, how he had promised to befriend 
the girl, how he would never be able to find 
her now. That gave me the idea. I would 
be old Sergeant Bosset’s daughter. I would 
stay in the cottage. If the old man provided 
Vol, xlvi. — 62 
me with a roof above my head, I would tend 
him, make his life less lonely ” 
“And plot against me and my kingdom ? ” 
Napoleon thrust in. 
“ No,” answered Marie-Claire. “ I would 
not seek shelter beneath a blind man’s roof 
and conspire against the Emperor that he 
talked of all the day long. Besides ” 
“ Ah ! ” interrupted Napoleon. “ Besides. 
It is always a besides with a woman.” 
“ Besides,” continued Marie-Claire, steadily, 
“my hopes had failed — my dreams were 
ended.” 
Napoleon bent forward. He laid a heavy 
hand on Marie-Claire’s shoulder. 
“ Who are you ? ” he demanded. 
Suddenly the woman looked into the frown- 
ing, sullen face. 
“ Tf your Majesty has me arrested, will you 
spare the Sergeant Vachoux ? ” she de- 
manded. 
“ Peste , woman ! I can arrest you and 
tell the sergeant exactly what I think fit,” 
answered Napoleon. 
“ Will your Majesty have mercy on an old 
man and let one victim suffice him for to- 
day ? ” Marie-Claire persisted. 
“ I tell you, woman, you are in my power,” 
rapped out Napoleon. 
“ I know it, Sire,” answered Marie-Claire, 
“ but ” 
“ But what, nom de del ? ” ejaculated the 
Emperor. 
The woman before him just smiled. 
u Your Majesty l icks my name.” 
“ My police will identify you quickly 
enough.” 
“ I hardly think so, your Majesty,” Marie- 
Claire retorted. “ They have seen me more 
than once, and failed to discover anything of 
interest to them about me.” 
As she said that, Marie-Claire went right 
up to the Emperor. She bent to him — she 
almost whispered to him. 
“ The police, you recollect, your Majesty,” 
she went on, “ have never been able to lay 
their hands on the person, man or woman, 
who took the great proclamation of the 
year 1803 into Paris, who delivered it to the 
conspirators within the city to be printed 
and posted. The astute Monsieur Louche 
leans to the belief that it was a woman, and 
he is convinced that the lad£ was no longer 
young. He searches for someone past middle 
age. He has never stopped searching for some- 
one mature enough to be trusted with the 
details of the best- thought-out plot since your 
Majesty assumed the crown. But she might. 
Sire — this woman, I mean — have been young.” 
