convinced, almost against their will, the wise men of the village, this
fanciful exploit had been growing a deep reality to him. He had
convinced himself; he felt that he could, in a larger sphere, gather
thousands about him where he now gathered scores--with a good cause.
Well, was his cause not good, he asked himself?

There were others to whom this growing reality was painful. The young
Seigneur was serious enough about it, and more than once, irritated and
perturbed, he sought Madame Chalice; but she gave him no encouragement,
remarking coldly that Monsieur Valmond probably knew very well what he
was doing, and was weighing all consequences.

She had become interested in a passing drama, and De la Riviere's
attentions produced no impression on her, and gave her no pleasure. They
were, however, not obtrusive. She had seen much of him two years before;
he had been a good friend of her husband. She was amused at his
attentions then; she had little to occupy her, and she felt herself
superior to any man's emotions: not such as this young Seigneur could win
her away from her passive but certain fealty. She had played with fire,
from the very spirit of adventure in her, but she had not been burnt.

"You say he is an impostor, dear monsieur," she said languidly: "do pray
exert yourself, and prove him one. What is your evidence?"

She leaned back in the very chair where she had sat looking at Valmond a
few weeks before, her fingers idly smoothing out the folds of her dress.

"Oh, the thing is impossible," he answered, blowing the smoke of a
cigarette; "we've had no real proof of his birth, and life--and so on."