an indulgent janitor scanning the sleepy street from his doorway.

He was abruptly drawn from his reverie by the entrance of Lagroin into
the little garden; and he followed the old man through the open doorway.
All was dark, but as they stepped within they heard some one move.
Presently a match was struck, and Elise came forward with a candle raised
level with her dusky head. Lagroin looked at her in indignant
astonishment.

"Do you not see who is here, girl?" he demanded. "Your Excellency!"
she said confusedly to Valmond, and, bowing, offered him a chair.

"You must pardon her, sire," said the old sergeant. "She has never been
taught, and she's a wayward wench."

Valmond waved his hand. "Nonsense, we are friends. You are my General;
she is your niece." His eyes followed Elise as she set out for them some
cider, a small flask of cognac, and some seed-cakes; luxuries which were
served but once a year in this house, as in most homes of Pontiac.

For a long time Valmond and his General talked, devised, planned,
schemed, till the old man grew husky and pale. The sight of his senile
weariness flashed the irony of the whole wild dream into Valmond's mind.
He rose, and, giving his arm, led Lagroin to his bedroom, and bade him
good-night. When he returned to the room, it was empty.

He looked around, and, seeing an open door, moved to it quickly. It led
into a little stairway.

He remembered then that there was a room which had been, apparently,