He instantly divined one who knew his subject, though he talked this melodramatically: a thing not uncommon among the habitants and the professional story-tellers, but scarcely the way of the coterie.
"Ah, yes, yes," he said, "for--?
monsieur, for-- ?" He paused, as if to give himself the delight of hearing their visitor speak.
"For Napoleon," was the abrupt reply.
"Ah, yes, dear Lord, yes--a Napoleon--of--of the Empire.

France can only cherish an idea when a man is behind it, when a man lives it, embodies it.

She must have heroes.

She is a poet, a poet--and an actress." "So said the Man, Napoleon," cried Valmond, getting to his feet.
"He said that to Barras, to Remusat, to Josephine, to Lucien, to--to another, when France had for the moment lost her idea--and her man." The avocat trembled to his feet to meet Valmond, who stood up as he spoke, his face shining with enthusiasm, a hand raised in broad dramatic gesture, a dignity come upon him, in contrast to the figure which had disported itself through the village during the past week.

The avocat had found a man after his own heart.