of them could
read.

When in a few minutes the page came back, followed, close at his heels,
by a man in motley dress, with a viol hung over his shoulders, Count
Pierre, without waiting to greet the latter, thrust the parchment into
his hands with the gruff command:

"There, fellow! read this letter for me instantly! and if thou makest a
single mistake, I will have thee strangled with the strings of thine own
viol, and tumbled off the highest turret of this castle before set of
sun!"

At this fierce threat, the troubadour began at once to read, taking care
to make no mistakes. Count Pierre listened attentively to every word,
and when the troubadour came to the end, having read it exactly as the
messenger had done, the count angrily snatched it from his hands, and,
swallowing his rage as best he could, went slowly back to the castle
hall.

Then, after a few moments' silence, he very ungraciously and
ill-naturedly gave orders that peasant Viaud be released from prison,
and the sheep sent back. He made a very wry face over the fifty extra
ones, and did not look at all anxious to celebrate King Louis's
approaching wedding.

And then he took the gold pieces which the messenger offered him, and
reluctantly scrawled his name (it was all he could write, and that very
badly) to a piece of parchment which the messenger had ready, and which,
when Count Pierre had signed it, proved that he had sold to King Louis
the land and cottage, and no longer held control over peasant Viaud or
any of his family.

When this was done, the messenger, bidding the nobleman a courteous
farewell, left the latter still very angry and scowling, and, above all,
lost in amazement that King Louis should take all this trouble on
account of a poor, unknown peasant, who had lived all his life on a tiny
farm in Normandy! And as no one ever explained things to him, Count
Pierre never did know how it had all come about, and that, however much
against his will, he was doing his part toward helping answer Gabriel's
little prayer.

CHAPTER X.

GABRIEL'S CHRISTMAS

WHEN the messenger reached the courtyard of the castle, he found peasant
Viaud awaiting him there. The poor man looked very pale and wan from his
imprisonment, and his face pitifully showed what anxiety he had suffered
in thinking about his family left with no one to help them. His clothes,
too, were thin and worn, and he shivered in the cold December wind.
Noticing this, the messe