"But," continued the calm voice, "his spirit, stripped of the rubbish of
this quarrelsome world, and freed from the spite of foes, comes out from
exile and lives in our France to-day--for she is still ours, though we
find peace and bread to eat, under another flag. And in these troubled
times, when France needs a man, even as a barren woman a child to be the
token of her womanhood, it may be that one sprung from the loins of the
Great Napoleon may again give life to the principle which some have
sought to make into a legend. Even as the deliverer came out of obscure
Corsica, so from some outpost of France, where the old watchwords still
are called, may rise another Napoleon, whose mission will be civic glory
and peace alone, the champion of the spirit of France, defending it
against the unjust. He shall be fastened as a nail in a sure place, as a
glorious throne to his father's house."
He leaned over the pulpit, and, pausing, looked down at his congregation.
Then, all at once, he was aware that he had created a profound
impression. Just in front of him, his eyes burning with a strange fire,
sat Monsieur Valmond. Parpon, beside him, hung over the back of a seat,
his long arms stretched out, his hands applauding in a soundless way.
Beneath the sword of Louis the Martyr, the great treasure of the parish,
presented to this church by Marie Antoinette, sat Monsieur Garon, his
thin fingers pressed to his mouth as if to stop a sound.
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