THE WOMAN IN THE DIMITY GOWN . 
409 
cheering, quite apart from any official wel- 
come. 
The sound travelled to the Emperor. 
He started “ Sapristi /” he murmured. 
Josephine, who was not clever, who was not 
astute, had done what he had failed to do. 
The Emperor walked quickly to the door 
of the cottage. He stood up for everyone 
to see him, and everyone seemed to thin : 
him of smaller consequence than a woman 
kissing a baby. He walked down the path ; 
he went up to Josephine. 
“ Madame/’ he began, as she looked at 
him anxiously to see if she had done wrong, 
“ I would present a brave man to your 
Majesty, an old soldier who has fought for 
France. He has lost his sight, this brave 
man, serving Ills country ; he has lost the use 
of his legs. He cannot go to your Majesty, 
you must go to him; and Madame” — raising 
his voice, looking out at the women who were 
listening, at the children who were standing 
some of them watching him with great 
round eves, some of them with their little 
heads buried in their mother’s skirts, at the 
men — the men were listening now — “ if 
you asked me for an increase to the pension 
awarded to this Lieutenant Vachoux that 
the brave soldier may have a few extra 
francs with which to drink your health 
and mine, I should be pleased to grant it.” 
The Empress answered promptly. She 
knew her cue here. “ Your Majesty never 
requires me to plead with you for those who 
have served France,” she answered. 
The cheering broke out anew, the cheering 
from the heart this time. 
The Emperor put out his hand. He led 
Josephine to the cottage. He stopped at 
the door. 
“ I bring the Empress,” he said, and he 
looked, not at his Staff, not at the Colonel, 
not at the Major, but to the woman in 
the poor dimity gown who stood so erect, 
so stately, with a soldier either side of her. 
“ Seeing,” he went on, “ that the Lieu- 
tenant” — he paused, he looked straight at 
Marie-Clairc “ seeing,” he resumed, <£ that 
the Lieutenant Vachoux cannot walk to the 
Empress I bring the Empress to the Lieutenant 
Vachoux.” 
Josephine went on down the little room, 
she stood beside the blind man ; the Emperor 
pulled up before the woman who had just 
been arrested by his orders. 
“ And you, mademoiselle,” he said to her, 
ff if the Empress should wish that you be 
presented to her, what name shall I say ? ” 
Again there followed a pause. The 
Emperor’s eyes were fixed on Marie-Claire. 
She looked not at him, but beyond him, as 
though an important matter were involved 
in the simple question, and she was making 
up her mind about it. The other men in 
the room exchanged wondering glances. 
At length they understood that something 
momentous — significant — was being enacted ; 
that the centre figure, for the momeht, was 
not the master of Europe, but this woman 
in the poor dimity gown. 
Marie-Claire curtsied. 
“ If His Majes y will so far honour his 
faithful servant,” she said, as she raised 
herself and looked back into the eyes bent 
on her — she waited a moment, she repeated 
the two words “ faithful servant” — “ Madame 
de la Noir de Grande craves the honour of 
being presented to the Empress.” 
Napoleon hoard the name. He started. 
There was none more illustrious in France, 
and above all things he craved for the ad- 
herence of the old nobility. 
“ My faithful servant,” he repeated ; “ my 
bitterest enemy hitherto,” 
Marie-Claire looked back straight at him. 
“ The adopted niece of the Lieutenant 
Vachoux owes her life to your Majesty,” 
she answered. ££ She owes more, she owes 
the happiness of the Lieutenant Vachoux to 
him also. If His Majesty will take her 
gratitude in return for those great gifts, 
he has it.” 
Napoleon put out his hand. For once 
his face was soft almost — it certainly was 
regretful, sad. Madame de la Noir de Grande 
bent, placed her own in it. 
Together they went up the little room ; 
side by side they passed between the lines 
of amazed courtiers, the Emperor and the 
woman in the poor dimity gown. Josephine 
received Madame de la Noir de Grande 
graciously. The Emperor laid his hand on 
old Vachoux’s shoulder. He kept it there 
while he looked out into the street, at the 
waiting crowd, at the line of soldiers drawn 
up on either side of the road. Suddenly the 
cloud came down over his face. All the 
arrogance momentarily left him, and he was 
just a human being possessed with the 
consciousness that with victory in sight, 
with the world, apparently, but waiting for 
him to conquer it, he would be baffled. 
“ Mon vieux” he whispered, as he bent 
over the poor cripple who had lost all but 
his love for his general fighting for him. 
“ If I had bu you, if I had but a few thousand 
such as you, I should be master of Europe 
to morrow.” 
