True, he had entered the village in the dead of night, with many packages
and much luggage, had roused the people at the Louis Quinze, the driver
who had brought him departing before daybreak gaily, because of the gifts
of gold given him above his wage. True, this singular gentleman had
taken three rooms in the Louis Quinze, had paid the landlord in advance,
and had then gone to bed, leaving word that he was not to be waked till
three o'clock the next afternoon. True, the landlord could not by any
hint or indirection discover from whence his midnight visitor came. But
if a gentleman paid his way, and was generous and polite, and minded his
own business, wherefore should people busy themselves about him? When he
appeared on the veranda of the inn with the hot pennies, not a half-dozen
people in the village had known aught of his presence in Pontiac. The
children came first, to scorch their fingers and fill their pockets, and
after them the idle young men, and the habitants in general.

The stranger having warmly shaken Parpon by the hand and again whispered
in his ear, stepped forward. The last light of the setting sun was
reflected from the red roof of the Little Chemist's shop upon the quaint
figure and eloquent face, which had in it something of the gentleman,
something of the comedian. The alert Medallion himself did not realise
the touch of the comedian in him, till the white hand was waved
grandiloquently over the heads of the crowd. Then something in the
gesture corresponded with something in the face, and the auctioneer had
a nut which he could not crack for many a day. The voice was musical,--
as fine in speaking almost as the dwarf's in singing,--and the attention
of the children was caught by the rich, vibrating tones. He addressed
himself to them.

"My children," he said, "my name is--Valmond! We have begun well; let us
be better friends. I have come from far off to be one of you, to stay