personality, but as a mystery to be probed, discovered. Sentiment?
Coquetry? Not with him. That for less interesting men, she said to
herself. Why should a point or two of dress and manners affect her
unpleasantly? She ought to be just, to remember that there was a touch
of the fantastic, of the barbaric, in all genius.

Was he a genius? For an instant she almost thought he was, when she saw
the people make way for him to pass out of the church, as though he were
a great personage, Parpon trotting behind him. He carried himself with
true appreciation of the incident, acknowledging more by look than by
sign this courtesy.

"Upon my word," she said, "he has them in his pocket." Then,
unconsciously plagiarising Parpon: "Prince or barber--a toss-up!"

Outside, many had gathered round Medallion. The auctioneer, who liked
the unique thing and was not without tact, having the gift of humour,
took on himself the office of inquisitor, even as there rose again little
snatches of "Vive Napoleon" from the crowd. He approached Valmond, who
was moving on towards the Louis Quinze, with appreciation of a time for
disappearing.

"We know you, sir," said Medallion, "as Monsieur Valmond; but there are
those who think you would let us address you by a name better known--
indeed, the name dear to all Frenchmen. If it be so, will you not let us
call you Napoleon" (he took off his hat, and Valmond did the same), "and
will you tell us what we may do for you?"

Madame Chalice, a little way off, watched Valmond closely. He stood a
moment in a quandary, yet he was not outwardly nervous, and he answered