He drew from his breast a small painting of Napoleon, on ivory, and
handed it to her.

"It was the work of David," he continued. "You will find it well
authenticated. Look upon the back of it."

She looked, and her heart beat a little faster. "This was done when he
was alive?" she said.

"For the King of Rome," he answered. "Adieu, madame. Again I thank you,
for our cause as for myself."

He turned away. She let him get as far as the door. "Wait, wait!" she
said suddenly, a warm light in her face, for her imagination had been
touched. "Tell me, tell me the truth. Who are you? Are you really a
Napoleon? I can be a constant ally, but, I charge you, speak the truth
to me. Are you--" She stopped abruptly. "No, no; do not tell me," she
added quickly. "If you are not, you will be your own executioner. I
will ask for no further proof than did Sergeant Lagroin. It is in a
small way yet, but you are playing a terrible game. Do you realise what
may happen?"

"In the hour that you ask a last proof I will give it," he said almost
fiercely. "I go now to meet an enemy."

"If I should change that enemy into a friend--" she hinted.

"Then I should have no need of stratagem or force."