Monsieur the Viscount did not stay long by the embroidery frame; he was entertaining to-day a party of children from the estate, and had come for the key of an old cabinet of which he wished to display the treasures.  When tired of this, they went out on to the terrace, and one of the children who had not been there before exclaimed at the beauty of the view.

“It is true,” said the little Viscount, carelessly, “and all, as far as you can see, is the estate.”

“I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur,” said one of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping back, flung it with all his little strength.  The stone fell before it had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of laughter.

“Let us see who can beat that,” they cried; and there was a general search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower beds.

“One may easily throw such as those,” said the Viscount, who was poking under the wall of the first terrace; “but here is a stone that one may call a stone.  Who will send this into the fish-pond?  It will make a fountain of itself.”

The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged and pulled at a large dirty looking stone, which was half-buried in the earth by the wall.  “Up it comes!” said the Viscount, at length; and sure enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes shining out of his dirty wrinkled body—­horror of horrors!—­there lay a toad.  Now, even in England, toads are not looked upon with much favour, and a party of English children would have been startled by such a discovery.  But with French people, the dread of toads is ludicrous in its intensity.  In France toads are believed to have teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so my hero and his young guests must be excused for taking flight at once with a cry of dismay.  On the next terrace, however, they paused, and seeing no signs of the enemy, crept slowly back again.  The little Viscount (be it said) began to feel ashamed of himself, and led the way, with his hand upon the miniature sword which hung at his side.  All eyes were fixed upon the fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to push forth, first a dirty wrinkled leg, then half a dirty wrinkled head, with one gleaming eye.  It was too much; with cries of, “It is he! he comes! he spits! he pursues us!” the young guests of the chateau fled in good earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and the fish-pond.

But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground.  At the sudden apparition the blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it flooded back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his sword, and shouting, “Vive la France!” rushed upon the enemy.  The sword if small was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most undoubtedly have been, but for a sudden check received by the valiant little nobleman.  It came in the shape of a large heavy hand that seized Monsieur the Viscount with the grasp of a giant, while a voice which could only have belonged to the owner of such a hand said in slow deep tones,