t executor with
Monsieur le Cure."

They entered the house. In a business-like way Armand motioned them
to chairs, opened the curtains, and rang the bell. The old housekeeper
appeared, a sorrowful joy in her face, and Armand said: "Give us a
bottle of the white-top, Sylvie, if there is any left."

"There is plenty, monsieur," she said; "none has been drunk these twelve
years."

The Avocat coughed, and said hesitatingly to Armand: "I asked Parpon the
dwarf to come, monsieur. There is a reason."

Armand raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Very good," he said. "When will
he be here?"

"He is waiting at the Louis Quinze hotel."

"I will send for him," said Armand, and gave the message to Sylvie, who
was entering the room.

After they had drunk the wine placed before them, there was silence for
a moment, for all were wondering why Parpon should be remembered in the
Seigneur's Will.

"Well," said Medallion at last, "a strange little dog is Parpon. I could
surprise you about him--and there isn't any reason why I should keep the
thing to myself. One day I was up among the rocks, looking for a
strayed horse. I got tired, and lay down in the shade of the Rock of Red
Pigeons--you know it. I fell asleep. Something waked me. I got up and
heard the finest singing you can guess: not like any I ever heard; a
wild, beautiful, shivery sort of thing. I listened for a long time. At
last it stopped. Then something slid down the rock. I peeped out, and
saw Parpon toddling away."

The Cure stared incredulously, the Avocat took off his glasses and
tapped his lips musingly, Armand whistled softly.

"So," said Armand at last, "we have the jewel in the toad's head. The
clever imp hid it all these years--even from you, Monsieur le Cure."

"Even from me," said the Cure, smiling. Then, gravely: "It is strange,
the angel in the stunted body."

"Are you sure it's an angel?" said Armand.

"Who ever knew Parpon do any harm?" queried the Cure.

"He has always been kind to the poor," put in the Avocat.

"With the miller's flour," laughed Medallion: "a pardonable sin."
He sent a quizzical look at the Cure. "Do you remember the words of
Parpon's song?" asked Armand.

"Only a few lines; and those not easy to understand, unless one had an
inkling."

"Had you the inkling?"

"Perhaps, monsieur," replied Medallion seriously. They eyed each other.

"We will have Parpon in after the will is read," said Armand suddenly,
looking at the Avocat