CHAPTER XV
Valmond's strength came back quickly, but something had given his mind a
new colour. He felt, by a strange telegraphy of fate, that he had been
spared death by fever to meet an end more in keeping with the strange
exploit which now was coming to a crisis. The next day he was going back
to Dalgrothe Mountain, the day after that there should be final review,
and the succeeding day the march to the sea would begin. A move must be
made. There could be no more delay. He had so lost himself in the dream,
that it had become real, and he himself was the splendid adventurer, the
maker of empires. True, he had only a small band of ill-armed men, but
better arms could be got, and by the time they reached the sea--who could
tell!
As he sat alone in the quiet dusk of his room at the Louis Quinze waiting
for Parpon, there came a tap at his door. It opened, the garcon mumbled
something, and Madame Chalice entered slowly.
Her look had no particular sympathy, but there was a sort of friendliness
in the rich colour of her face, in the brightness of her eyes.
"The avocat was to have accompanied me," she said; "but at the last I
thought it better to come without him, because--"
She paused.
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