ght him to die, has
taught him also how to live,--an honorable, useful life.

It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by
which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face and
ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder and her
large eyes upon the violets.

"My friend! My friend! My friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's voice,
and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets that sends
the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves come forth
first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with gleaming
eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity on to
Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.

So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount bids
his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame, that she may do the
same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society in
prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head delicately
with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him greatly, at a
distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, and are met by
a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it possible that
this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with powder?

Yes; that grating voice which no mental change avails to subdue, is his,
and he announces that Monsieur le Cure has arrived. It is the old Cure
of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), and
many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times in
which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the life of
his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see,--of Monsieur the
Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they
pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's
steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries
himself once more among the violets.

* * * * *

Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; and
their possessions have descended to their son.

Not the least valued among them, is a case with a glass front and sides,
in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed with
exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. Above it
in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:--

"MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND."
ADIEU!

THE YEW-