The
little man laid him down, felt his pulse, his heart, saw a little black
stain on his lips, and cried out in a great fear:
"My God! The black fever! Ah, my Napoleon!"
Valmond lay in a burning stupor; and word went abroad that he might die;
but Parpon insisted that he would be well presently, and at first would
let no one but the Little Chemist and the Cure come in or near the tent.
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WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC
The Story of a Lost Napoleon
By Gilbert Parker
Volume 3.
CHAPTER XIII
The sickness had come like a whirlwind: when it passed, what would be
left? The fight went on in the quiet hills--a man of no great stature or
strength, against a monster who racked him in a fierce embrace. A
thousand scenes flashed through Valmond's brain, before his eyes, while
the great wheel of torture went round, and he was broken, broken-mended
and broken again, upon it. Spinning--he was for ever spinning, like a
tireless moth through a fiery air; and the world went roaring past.
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