He lies in our graveyard; he is ours; and, being ours, let
us protect his memory, as though he had not sought us a stranger, but was
of us: of our homes, as of our love, and of our sorrow.
"And so atoning for our sins, as did he, may we at last come to the
perfect pardon, and to peace everlasting."
EPILOGUE
I
(EXTRACT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY MADAME CHALICE TO MONSIEUR PADRE, CURE
OF THE PARISH OF PONTIAC, THREE MONTHS AFTER VALMOND'S DEATH.)
" . . . And here, dear Cure, you shall have my justification for writing
you two letters in one week, though I should make the accident a habit if
I were sure it would more please you than perplex you.
"Prince Pierre, son of Prince Lucien Bonaparte, arrived in New York two
days ago, and yesterday morning he came to the Atlantic Bank, and asked
for my husband. When he made known his business, Harry sent for me, that
I might speak with him.
"Dear Cure, hearts and instincts were right in Pontiac: our unhappy
friend Valmond was that child of Napoleon, born at St. Helena, of whom he
himself spoke at his death in your home. His mother was the Countess of
Carnstadt.
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