The Prince was seldom
gentle with me--sometimes almost brutal, yet he would scarcely let me out
of his sight. I had little intercourse then with the other servants, and
less still when I was old enough to become a valet; and a valet I was to
the Prince for twelve years."
The Cure's hand clasped the arm of his chair nervously. His lips moved,
but he said nothing aloud, and he glanced quickly towards Madame Chalice,
who sat moveless, her face flushed, her look fixed on Valmond. So, he was
the mere impostor after all--a valet! Fate had won the toss-up; not
faith, or friendship, or any good thing.
"All these years," Valmond continued presently, his voice growing weaker,
"I fed on such food as is not often within the reach of valets. I knew as
much of the Bonapartes, of Napoleonic history, as the Prince himself, so
much so, that he often asked me of some date or fact of which he was not
sure. In time, I became almost like a private secretary to him. I lived
in a dream for years; for I had poetry, novels, paintings, music, at my
hand all the time, and the Prince, at the end, changed greatly, was
affectionate indeed, and said he would do good things for me.
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