hand, and our hero
in his left.

Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been
so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he was not
particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy
orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a
costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to
exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the
Preceptor, had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin
betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as
well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable
parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,
especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in
keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in
the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence made
those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a gift
the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which his
heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of the
late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have felt
fully the deep importance of your dress being _a la mode_, and your
complexion _a la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still exist);
but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the magic died at
once out of brocaded silks and pearl-colored stockings, and dress and
complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. Monsieur the
Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been chosen as an inmate
of such a household; but, though young, he had unusual talents, and
added to them the not more usual accompaniments of modesty and
trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in times when piety
was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the church of which he was a
minister. Moreover, a family that fashion does not permit to be
demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected credit from an austere
chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor remained in the chateau and went
his own way. It was this man who now laid hands on the Viscount, and, in
a voice that sounded like amiable thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que
faites-vous?_"

"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said
Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutor's
finger and thumb.

"It is only a toad," said Monsieur