Maire."

He was nearing middle life now, but he was not conscious of it, being
still a bachelor. There was not as yet, a streak of gray in his
well-kept beard, and the good humour sparkled in his merry eyes as of
old. The only change that had occurred concerned the million. It was no
longer the brilliant solid million of his youth. It was sadly torn off
in places--there were also several large holes in it--indeed, if the
truth be told, it was little more than a remnant of its once splendid
entirety. It had been eaten by moths--certain shrewd old wasps, too, had
nested in it for years--not a sou of it had vanished in speculation or
bad investment. Monsieur de Savignac (this part of it the cure told me)
was as ignorant as a child concerning business affairs and stubbornly
avoided them. He had placed his fortune intact in the Bank of France,
and had drawn out what he needed for his friends. In the first year of
his inheritance he glanced at the balance statement sent him by the
bank, with a feeling of peaceful delight. As the years of his generosity
rolled on, he avoided reading it at all--"like most optimists," remarked
the cure, "he did not wish to know the truth." At forty-six he married
the niece of an impoverished old wasp, a gentleman still in excellent
health, owing to de Savignac's generosity. It was his good wife now, who
read the balance statement.

For a while after his marriage, gaiety again reigned at the chateau, but
upon a more economical basis; then gradually they grew to entertain less
and less; indeed there were few left of the moths and old wasps to give
to--they had flown to cluster around another million.

Most of this Pierre, who was leading me through the leafy lane that led
to de Savignac's home, knew or could have known, for it was common talk
in the country around, but his mind to-day was not on de Savignac's
past, but on the dog which we both were so anxious to see.

* * * * *

"Monsieur has never met Monsieur de Savignac?" ventured Pierre as we
turned our steps out of the brilliant sunlight, and into a wooded path
skirting the extensive forest of the estate.

"Not yet, Pierre."

"He is a fine old gentleman," declared Pierre, discreetly lowering his
voice. "Poor man!"

"Why _poor_, Pierre?" I laughed, "with an estate like this--nonsense!"

"Ah! Monsieur does not know?"--Pierre's voice sunk to a whisper--"the
chateau is mortgaged, monsieur. There is not a