garden]

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE MILLION OF MONSIEUR DE SAVIGNAC

The bay of Pont du Sable, which the incoming tide had so swiftly filled
at daylight, now lay a naked waste of oozing black mud. The birds had
gone with the receding sea, and I was back from shooting, loafing over
my pipe and coffee in a still corner among the roses of my wild garden,
hidden behind the old wall, when that Customhouse soldier-gardener of
mine, Pierre, appeared with the following message:

"Monsieur de Savignac presents his salutations the most distinguished
and begs that monsieur will give him the pleasure of calling on him _a
propos_ of the little spaniel."

What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain
for a thoroughbred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels
of Monsieur de Savignac's chateau.

"Enchanted, Pierre!" I cried--"Present my compliments to Monsieur de
Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may
expect me to-morrow before noon."

I could easily imagine what a beauty my spaniel would be, clean-limbed
and alert like the ones in the coloured lithographs. "No wonder," I
thought, as Pierre left me, "that every peasant for miles around spoke
of this good Monsieur de Savignac's generosity. Here he was giving me a
dog. To me, his American neighbour, whom he had never met!"

As I walked over to the chateau with Pierre the next morning, I recalled
to my mind the career of this extraordinary man, whose only vice was his
great generosity.

When Monsieur de Savignac was twenty-one he inherited a million francs,
acquired a high hat with a straight brim, a standing collar, well open
at the throat (in fashion then under Napoleon III.), a flowing cravat--a
plush waistcoat with crystal buttons, a plum-coloured broadcloth coat
and trousers of a pale lemon shade, striped with black, gathered tight
at the ankles, their bottoms flouncing over a pair of patent-leather
boots with high heels.

He was tall, strong and good-natured, this lucky Jacques de Savignac,
with a weakness for the fair sex which was appalling, and a charm of
manner as irresistible as his generosity. A clumsy fencer, but a good
comrade--a fellow who could turn a pretty compliment, danced better than
most of the young dandies at court, drove his satin-skinned pair of bays
through the Bois with an easy smile, and hunted hares when the shooting
opened with the dogged tenacity of a veteran poacher.

When he