"It was the Angel of Patience."
They walked on again for a time without a word. At last the Cure said:
"You will remain here?"
"I cannot tell. This 'here' is a small world, and the little life may
fret me. Nor do I know what I have of this,"--he waved his hands towards
the house,--"or of my father's property. I may need to be a wanderer
again."
"God forbid! Have you not seen the will?"
"I have got no farther than his grave," was the sombre reply.
The priest sighed. They paced the walk again in silence. At last the
Cure said: "You will make the place cheerful, as it once was."
"You are persistent," replied the young man, smiling. "Whoever lives
here should make it less gloomy."
"We shall soon know who is to live here. See, there is Monsieur Garon,
and Monsieur Medallion also."
"The Avocat to tell secrets, the auctioneer to sell them--eh?" Armand
went forward to the gate. Like most people, he found Medallion
interesting, and the Avocat and he were old friends.
"You did not send for me, monsieur," said the Avocat timidly, "but I
thought it well to come, that you might know how things are; and Monsieur
Medallion came because he is a witness to the will, and, in a case--"here
the little man coughed nervously--"joint executor with Monsieur le Cure."
They entered the house. In a business-like way Armand motioned them to
chairs, opened the curtains, and rang the bell. The old housekeeper
appeared, a sorrowful joy in her face, and Armand said: "Give us a bottle
of the white-top, Sylvie, if there is any left."
"There is plenty, monsieur," she said; "none has been drunk these twelve
years."
The Avocat coughed, and said hesitatingly to Armand: "I asked Parpon the
dwarf to come, monsieur. There is a reason."
Armand raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Very good," he said. "When
will he be here?"
"He is waiting at the Louis Quinze hotel."
"I will send for him," said Armand, and gave the message to Sylvie, who
was entering the room.
After they had drunk the wine placed before them, there was silence for a
moment, for all were wondering why Parpon should be remembered in the
Seigneur's Will.
"Well," said Medallion at last, "a strange little dog is Parpon. I could
surprise you about him--and there isn't any reason why I should keep the
thing to myself. One day I was up among the rocks, looking for a strayed
horse. I got tired, and lay down in the shade of the Rock of Red
Pigeons--you know it. I fell asleep. Something waked me. I got up and
heard the finest singing you can guess: not like any I ever heard; a
wild, beautiful, shivery sort of thing. I listened for a long time. At
last it stopped. Then something slid down the rock. I peeped out, and
saw Parpon toddling away."
The Cure stared incredulously, the Avocat took off his glasses and tapped
his lips musingly, Armand whistled softly.
"So," said Armand at last, "we have the jewel in the toad's head. The
clever imp hid it all these years--even from you, Monsieur le Cure."
"Even from me," said the Cure, smiling. Then, gravely: "It is strange,
the angel in the stunted body." "Are you sure it's an angel?" said
Armand.
"Who ever knew Parpon do any harm?" queried the Cure.
"He has always been kind to the poor," put in the Avocat.
"With the miller's flour," laughed Medallion: "a pardonable sin." He
sent a quizzical look at the Cure. "Do you remember the words of
Parpon's song?" asked Armand.
"Only a few lines; and those not easy to understand, unless one had an
inkling."
"Had you the inkling?"
"Perhaps, monsieur," replied Medallion seriously. They eyed each other.
"We will have Parpon in after the will is read," said Armand suddenly,
looking at the Avocat. The Avocat drew the deed from his pocket. He
looked up hesitatingly, and then said to Armand: "You insist on it being
read now?"
Armand nodded coolly, after a quick glance at Medallion. Then the Avocat
began, and read to that point where the Seigneur bequeathed all his
property to his son, should he return--on a condition. When the Avocat
came to the condition Armand stopped him.
"I do not know in the least what it may be," he said, "but there is only
one by which I could feel bound. I will tell you. My father and I
quarrelled"--here he paused for a moment, clinching his hands before him
on the table--"about a woman; and years of misery came. I was to blame
in not obeying him. I ought not to have given any cause for gossip.
Whatever the condition as to that matter may be, I will fulfil it. My
father is more to me than any woman in the world; his love of me was
greater than that of any woman. I know the world--and women."
There was a silence. He waved his hand to the Avocat to go on, and as he
did so the Cure caught his arm with a quick, affectionate gesture. Then
Monsieur Garon read the conditions: "That Farette the miller should have
a deed of the land on which his mill was built, with the dam of the mill
--provided that Armand should never so much as by a word again address
Julie, the miller's wife. If he agreed to the condition, with solemn
oath before the Cure, his blessing would rest upon his dear son, whom he
still hoped to see before he died."
When the reading ceased there was silence for a moment, then Armand stood
up, and took the will from the Avocat; but instantly, without looking at
it, handed it back. "The reading is not finished," he said. "And if I
do not accept the condition, what then?"
Again Monsieur Garon read, his voice trembling a little. The words of
the will ran: "But if this condition be not satisfied, I bequeath to my
son Armand the house known as the House with the Tall Porch, and the
land, according to the deed thereof; and the residue of my property--with
the exception of two thousand dollars, which I leave to the Cure of the
parish, the good Monsieur Fabre--I bequeath to Parpon the dwarf."
Then followed a clause providing that, in any case, Parpon should have in
fee simple the land known as the Bois Noir, and the hut thereon.
Armand sprang to his feet in surprise, blurting out something, then sat
down, quietly took the will, and read it through carefully. When he had
finished he looked inquiringly, first at Monsieur Garon, then at the
Cure. "Why Parpon?" he said searchingly.
The Cure, amazed, spread out his hands in a helpless way. At that moment
Sylvie announced Parpon. Armand asked that he should be sent in. "We'll
talk of the will afterwards," he added.
Parpon trotted in, the door closed, and he stood blinking at them.
Armand put a stool on the table. "Sit here, Parpon," he said. Medallion
caught the dwarf under the arms and lifted him on the table.
Parpon looked at Armand furtively. "The wild hawk comes back to its
nest," he said. "Well, well, what is it you want with the poor Parpon?"
He sat down and dropped his chin in his hands, looking round keenly.
Armand nodded to Medallion, and Medallion to the priest, but the priest
nodded back again. Then Medallion said: "You and I know the Rock of Red
Pigeons, Parpon. It is a good place to perch. One's voice is all to
one's self there, as you know. Well, sing us the song of the little
brown diver."
Parpon's hands twitched in his beard. He looked fixedly at Medallion.
Presently he turned towards the Cure, and shrank so that he looked
smaller still.
"It's all right, little son," said the Cure kindly. Turning sharply on
Medallion, Parpon said: "When was it you heard?"
Medallion told him. He nodded, then sat very still. They said nothing,
but watched him. They saw his eyes grow distant and absorbed, and his
face took on a shining look, so that its ugliness was almost beautiful.
All at once he slid from the stool and crouched on his knees. Then he
sent out a low long note, like the toll of the bell-bird. From that time
no one stirred as he sang, but sat and watched him. They did not even
hear Sylvie steal in gently and stand in the curtains at the door.
The song was weird, with a strange thrilling charm; it had the slow
dignity of a chant, the roll of an epic, the delight of wild beauty. It
told of the little good Folk of the Scarlet Hills, in vague allusive
phrases: their noiseless wanderings; their sojourning with the eagle, the
wolf, and the deer; their triumph over the winds, the whirlpools, and the
spirits of evil fame. It filled the room with the cry of the west wind;
it called out of the frozen seas ghosts of forgotten worlds; it coaxed
the soft breezes out of the South; it made them all to be at the whistle
of the Scarlet Hunter who ruled the North.
Then, passing through veil after veil of mystery, it told of a grand
Seigneur whose boat was overturned in a whirlpool, and was saved by a
little brown diver. And the end of it all, and the heart of it all, was
in the last few lines, clear of allegory:
"And the wheel goes round in the village mill, And the little brown diver
he tells the grain. . . And the grand Seigneur he has gone to meet The
little good Folk of the Scarlet Hills!"
At first, all were so impressed by the strange power of Parpon's voice,
that they were hardly conscious of the story he was telling. But when he
sang of the Seigneur they began to read his parable. Their hearts
throbbed painfully.
As the last notes died away Armand got up, and standing by the table,
said: "Parpon, you saved my father's life once?"
Parpon did not answer.
"Will you not tell him, my son?" said the Cure, rising. Still Parpon
was silent.
"The son of your grand Seigneur asks you a question, Parpon," said
Medallion soothingly.
"Oh, my grand Seigneur!" said Parpon, throwing up his hands. "Once he
said to me, 'Come, my brown diver, and live with me.' But I said, 'No,
I am not fit. I will never go to you at the House with the Tall Porch.'
And I made him promise that he would never tell of it. And so I have
lived sometimes with old Farette." Then he laughed strangely again, and
sent a furtive look at Armand.
"Parpon," said Armand gently, "our grand Seigneur has left you the Bois
Noir for your own. So the hills and the Rock of Red Pigeons are for you
--and the little good people, if you like."
Parpon, with fiery eyes, gathered himself up with a quick movement, then
broke out: "Oh, my grand Seigneur--my grand Seigneur!" and fell forward,
his head in his arms, laughing and sobbing together.
Armand touched his shoulder. "Parpon!" But Parpon shrank away.
Armand turned to the rest. "I do not understand it, gentlemen. Parpon
does not like the young Seigneur as he liked the old."
Medallion, sitting in the shadow, smiled. He understood. Armand
continued: "As for this 'testament, gentlemen, I will fulfil its
conditions; though I swear, were I otherwise minded regarding the woman"
--here Parpon raised his head swiftly--"I would not hang my hat for an
hour in the Tall Porch."
They rose and shook hands, then the wine was poured out, and they drank
it off in silence. Parpon, however, sat with his head in his hands.
"Come, little comrade, drink," said Medallion, offering him a glass.
Parpon made no reply, but caught up the will, kissed it, put it into
Armand's hand, and then, jumping down from the table, ran to the door and
disappeared through it.