"
The Cure could not trust himself to speak yet.
"I had not thought to go so far when I began. It was mostly a whim. But
the idea gradually possessed me, and at last it seemed to me that I was a
real Napoleon. I used to wake from the dream for a moment, and I tried
to stop, but something in my blood drove me on--inevitably. You were all
good to me; you nearly all believed in me. Lagroin came--and so it has
gone on till now, till now. I had a feeling what the end would be. But
I should have had my dream. I should have died for the cause as no
Napoleon or Bonaparte ever died. Like a man, I would pay the penalty
Fate should set. What more could I do? If a man gives all he has, is
not that enough? . . . There is my whole story. Now, I shall ask
your pardon, dear Cure."
"You must ask pardon of God, my son," said the priest, his looks showing
the anguish he felt.
"The Little Chemist said two hours, but I feel"--his voice got very faint
"I feel that he is mistaken." He murmured a prayer, and crossed himself
thrice.
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