She must have heroes. She is a poet, a poet--and an actress."
"So said the Man, Napoleon," cried Valmond, getting to his feet. "He said
that to Barras, to Remusat, to Josephine, to Lucien, to--to another, when
France had for the moment lost her idea--and her man."
The avocat trembled to his feet to meet Valmond, who stood up as he
spoke, his face shining with enthusiasm, a hand raised in broad dramatic
gesture, a dignity come upon him, in contrast to the figure which had
disported itself through the village during the past week. The avocat had
found a man after his own heart. He knew that Valmond understood whereof
he spoke. It was as if an artist saw a young genius use a brush on canvas
for a moment; a swordsman watch an unknown master of the sword. It was
not so much the immediate act, as the divination, the rapport, the spirit
behind the act, which could only come from the soul of the real thing.
"I thank you, monsieur; I thank you with all my heart," the avocat said.
"It is the true word you have spoken."
Here a lad came running to fetch the Little Chemist, and Medallion and he
departed, but not without the auctioneer having pressed Valmond's hand
warmly, for he was quick of emotion, and, like the avocat, he recognised,
as he thought, the true word behind the dramatic trappings.
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