CHAPTER III.
It was a year of Grace early in the present century.
We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is thechateau once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachableelegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The rightwing of the chateau is in ruins, with traces of fire upon theblackened walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a rooflesstemple are sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored partof the chateau, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount hasbeen fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yetregained enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as hethinks, luxury. The long rooms are little less elegant than in formerdays, and Madame the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model oftaste. Not far from it is another room, to which it forms a singularcontrast. This room belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small,with one window. The floor and walls are bare, and it contains nofurniture; but on the floor is a worn-out pallet, by which lies astone, and on that a broken pitcher, and in a little frame against thewall is preserved a crumpled bit of paper like the fly-leaf of somelittle book, on which is a half-effaced inscription, which can bedeciphered by Monsieur the Viscount if by no one else. Above thewindow is written in large letters, a date and the word REMEMBER.Monsieur the Viscount is not likely to forget, but he is afraid ofhimself and of prosperity lest it should spoil him.
It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along theterrace with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, forwhere the other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, onwhich a bit of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscounthas not been idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him todie, has taught him also how to live--an honourable, useful life.
It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets bywhich Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair faceand ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder,and her large eyes upon the violets.
"My friend! my friend! my friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount'svoice, and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violetsthat sends the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leavescome forth first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head withgleaming eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignityon to Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.
So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscountbids his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame that she maydo the same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's societyin prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his headdelicately with the tip of her white finger. But she respects himgreatly, at a distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace,and are met by a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is itpossible that this is Antoine, with his shock head covered withpowder?
Yes; that grating voice, which no mental change avails to subdue, ishis, and he announces that Monsieur le Cure has arrived. It is the oldCure of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution),and many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the timesin which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, thelife of his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see--of Monsieur thePreceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and theypass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount'ssteps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud burieshimself once more among the violets.
* * * * *
Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side;and their possessions have descended to their son.
Not the least valued among them is a case with a glass front andsides, in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffedwith exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz.Above it in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:--
"MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND."
ADIEU!
Melchior's Dream and Other Tales Page 7