make his brother King of Spain. So, if you fight, you do not fight for France, but for Napoleon alone."

"But, mother," said Pierre, "the good priest tells us that the cause of France is just; that God will bless our efforts for the country."

66

'My son," said the Widow Pasquin, raising her eyes solemnly, "we cannot believe all that even priests may tell us in these days. The Frenchmen of this age no longer worship Father, Son and Holy Ghost. They have created a new Trinity—France, Napoleon and Glory!"

CHAPTER II

Henri Jodelle

None but the brave deserves the fair.
—DRYDEN, Alexander's Feast.

HENRI JODELLE had been a soldier. He gained some distinction in the early wars of the Revolution; led a charge at Valmy, and was in that famous company of Pichegru's hussars who captured the Dutch fleet in the winter of 1795. Later he entered the Army of Italy, but lost a leg at Castiglione, and as misfortunes never come singly, his wife died shortly afterwards. Retired with a small pension, he had made a comfortable living as a restaurateur, and few places were better known to the people of Grenoble than the Cafe Jodelle. It faced the Place Grenette, and in fine weather the little tables and chairs were placed outside about the door under a broad awning. The interior was of modest dimensions. In the centre stood a large shining urn for making coffee. Against the walls and under the latticed windows were placed the small tables, with four chairs to each. On one wall hung a print of Hennequin's curious engraving representing General Bonaparte with a great plumed hat, his hand on his sword, his horse at a gallop, and underneath the title, "Bonaparte, General en chef de 1'armee d'ltalie." Between the windows hung a picture of the Battle of Castiglione, while above the

white wooden mantel was suspended a large colored print entitled, "Napoleon distribue les aigles a 1'armee," a copy of David's painting which represented the Emperor in his coronation robes giving the eagles to the army on the Champ-de-Mars.

The cafe was famous for having the best liqueurs in Grenoble, and doubly fortunate was that patron of the place, who, in addition to the viands he received, could obtain a smile from the host's daughter Marie. Though only seventeen, Marie had had many suitors; but Henri, in his double role of father and duenna, had frowned upon them all. In Henri's eyes a man who was not a soldier was nothing. To him the Emperor was a god, and the Garde Imperiale the apogee of military glory.

If, among the many who had sought Marie's hand, there was one on whom Henri looked with some favor, it was Jean Deteau. He had known Jean from his boyhood; had watched his career with interest; had rejoiced at the bravery he displayed in the Prussian campaign, and now that he saw him return decorated with the Legion of Honor and aide-de-camp to Marshal Lannes, he felt that here was one of whom, as a possible son-in-law, he could be justly proud.

Marie, on the contrary, had never cared for Jean. Perhaps the very reiteration of his praises by her father had wearied her. She admired his bravery, but she could never feel at ease when his keen, restless black eyes were fastened upon her, as they always were when he came to the Cafe Jodelle. He was bright and gay. He laughed a great deal, but about his laugh there was something so insincere, at times so heartless, that it almost frightened her.

As may be surmised, Jean would not leave Grenoble without paying a visit to Marie and Henri, and about seven in the evening on the day when Pierre had seen him at the Hotel des Trois Dauphins, he entered the Cafe Jodelle.

Henri gave him a warm welcome, and Marie smiled as she extended her hand.

The clock was striking ten when Jean emerged from the cafe. Something had evidently occurred to mar the pleasure of his visit. His face was hard and set; his eyes flashed fiercely; he pushed his busby angrily down upon his forehead, and threw his military cloak about his shoulders as he strode across the Place Grenette.

There were few pedestrians in the Rue Montorge when he reached it, and nothing disturbed the stillness of the street save the clank of his sword and the click of his spurs on the cobblestones as he hurried along. As he came under one of the flickering lights that faintly illuminated the gloom, he noticed, in the window of a shop before which he was passing, the sign, "Jeanne Pasquin, Epicerie." He stopped, and glanced up, surveying the facade of the little house, from its curved gables to the circular balcony above the door. The glance was momentary, but it was full of hatred and scorn. Then hurrying on, he reached the Trois Dauphins, and in the gray dawn of the following morning mounted his horse and set out for Spain.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Henri had gone to the Place St. Andre, and there were few people in the Cafe Jodelle when Pierre Pasquin entered it. A couple of hussars were seated at one of the tables,

being served by the garcon Gaspard, while a young fellow in a peasant's blouse and heavy wooden shoes was staring at the engraving of Bonaparte as General in Italy.

Pierre nodded to Gaspard, and passed through the cafe with the air of one thoroughly familiar with the place. He crossed a narrow side hall and was about to knock at a door, leading into a small sitting room, when he perceived that it was slightly open. Through the crack he could see Marie Jodelle. He thought she had never appeared more beautiful. Her soft brown hair waved about her face, and her delicate color was heightened by the little white cap she wore and the bow of black ribbon about her throat. She was sitting in a chair, her hands clasped in her lap, looking thoughtfully out of the window.

Pierre watched her for a moment, but, as something outside the window attracted her attention, she moved her chair and turned her back toward the door. He entered quietly, and slipping up behind her, put both hands over her eyes, and then, quickly removing them, kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh, Pierre!" cried Marie, jumping up, "I am so glad you have come. I have been hoping you would come to-day. I am so troubled."

"What has troubled you, Marie?"

"Close the door, Pierre," said Marie, "and I will tell you."

He did so, and when he had seated himself, she said, "Pierre, last night Jean was here.

say good-bye before he went to Spain.

He came to

Father was very glad to see him. You know father always speaks well of Jean."