The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-01-16
CHAPTER l.
A AElloRIAL DATE.

"A of June. To Fitzgerald there
 was something electric in the date. Many years before this date had marked the end to a certain hun dred days, the eclipse of sun more dazzling than Rome in the heyday of her august Caesars had ever known Waterloo. A little corporal of artil- Iery, from cooked hat to a crown, from Corsica to St. Helena-Napoleon
 Fitzgerald as he pressed his way along the Boulevard des Inyalides, his umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of a derelict. could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipse had been supernaIly prearranged- He held the handle of the umbrella under his arm. for the wind had a temper mawiing and destructive and veered into the Place Vauhan- Another man coming with equal haste from the opposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also two parts hidden behind an umbrellaz The two came together with a jolt as sounding as that of two old crusaders in friendly joust. Instantly they retreated, lower ing their shields.
 "I beg your pardon,' said Fitzgerald in French.
 s1Tt is of no consequence," replied the stranger, laughing. '-This is always a devil of a corner on a windy day" His French had a slight German twist to it.
 Briefly they inspected each other, as strnngera will careIessly, with annoy ance and amusement interpIaying in their eyes and on their lips, all in a triding moment. Then each raised his hat and proceeded as tranquilly and uncOncernedly as though destiny had no uIterior motive in bringing them thus really together. And yet when they had passed and disappeared from each others view both were struck with the fact that somewhere they had met before
 Fitzgerald went into the tomb, his head bared- Napoleon had always been Fitzgerald's hero; but he did not worship him bIindiy, no. He knew him to have been q brutal, domineer- ing man, interruptions in politics, to whom woman was either temporary toy or a stepping stone, not overpar ticular whether she was dairymaid or an Austrian princesSu-in fact, a rascal. but great, inventive, splendid, courageous one.
 Near to Fitzgerald stood an elderly man and n girl. The old fellow was a fine type of manhood, perhaps in the sixties. white haired, and the ruddy enamel on his cheeks spoke eloquently of sea changes and many angles of the sun. There was a but ton in the lapel of his coat, and from this Fitzgerald assumed that he was a naval officer, probably retired
 The girl rested upon the railing, her hands folded, and dreamiIy her gaze wandered from trophy to trophy; from the sarcophagus to the encircling faces. from one window to another and again to the -porphyry beneath And FitzgeraId's gaze wandered. too. For the girls face was of that mold which invariably draws first the eye of a man. then his intellect, then his heart. and sometimes all three at once. The face was as lovely as Q rose of Taormina. Dark brown were her eyes. dark brown Was her hair. She was tall al 1.-the, too. with the subtle hint of the woman. There were good taste and sense in her garments. A bunch of Parma violets was pinned against her breast.
 . a veteran. He had turned eighty if a day. His face was powder blown, an empty sleeve was folded across Dis breast and the medal of the Legion of Honor fell over the sleeve. As -ze girl and her elderly escort. pre- sumaDIy her father. turned about to leave, she unpinned the flowers and offered them impuisiveIy to the aged hero.
 'aTake these. mon brave," she said lightly. 'TYou have fought for France
 The old man was confused and his faded eyes filled. 'For me, mademoi- seller"
 ''SureIy!''
 'Thanks, mademoiseIle, thanksl saw him when they brought him back from St Helena, and the Old Guard