He walked with the air of a man courting observation. He imagined
himself a hero; he had told his lie so many times now that he almost
believed it himself.

He was soon surrounded. Disliked when he lived in Jersey before the
invasion years ago, that seemed forgotten now; for word had gone abroad
that he was a patriot raised from the dead, an honour to his country.
Many pressed forward to shake hands with him.

"Help of heaven, is that you, m'sieu'?" asked one. "You owed me five
chelins, but I wiped it out, O my good!" cried another generously.

"Shaken," cried a tall tarter holding out his hand. He had lived in
England, and now easily made English verbs into French.

One after another called on him to tell his story; some tried to hurry
him to La Pyramide, but others placed a cider-keg near, and almost lifted
him on to it.

"Go on, go on, tell us the story," they cried. To the devil with the
Frenchies!"

"Here--here's a dish of Adam's ale," cried an old woman, handing him a
bowl of water.

They cheered him lustily. The pallor of his face changed to a warmth.
He had the fatuousness of those who deceive with impunity. With
confidence he unreeled the dark line out to the end. When he had told
his story, still hungry for applause, he repeated the account of how the