"Drummer, call the army to attention," fell the words.
And again like a small whirlwind of hailstones the sticks shook on the drum.
"I advance Captain Lagroin to the rank of Colonel in my Household Troops, and I command you to obey him as such."
And once more: "Drummer, call the army to attention."
The sticks swung down, but somehow they faltered, for the drummer was shaking now.
"I advance Colonel Lagroin to the rank of General in my Household Troops, and I command you to obey him as such."
Then he beckoned, and the old man drew near. Stooping, he pinned the order upon his breast. When the sergeant saw what it was, he turned pale, trembled, and the drumsticks fell from his hand. His eyes shone like sun on wet glass, then tears sprang from them upon his face. He caught Valmond's hand and kissed it, and cried, oblivious of them all:
"Ah, sire, sire! It is true. It is true. I know that ribbon, and I know you are a Napoleon. Sire, I love you, and I will die for you!"
For the first time that day a touch of the fantastic came into Valmond's manner.
"General," he said, "the centuries look down on us as they looked down on him, your sire—and mine!"