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"You have killed him," he said, pointing. "No, no, not I," answered Valmond. "Some one threw a hammer." "There were two hammers." "It was Elise?" asked Valmond, with a shudder. "No, not Elise; it was you," said the dwarf, with a strange insistence. "I tell you no," said Valmond. "It was you, Parpon." "By God, it is a lie!" cried the dwarf, with a groan. Then he came close to Valmond.
The land about it, and a hut farther down the hill, belonged to Parpon; a legacy from the father of the young Seigneur. It was all hills, gorges, rivers, and idle, murmuring pines. Of a morning, mist floated into mist as far as eye could see, blue and grey and amethyst, a glamour of tints and velvety radiance.
"I'm sorry, and I ask you all to forgive me, and I'll confess to the Cure, and take my penance, and " he paused, for breathing hurt him. At that moment the woman in black who had been in the gallery came quickly forward. Parpon saw her, frowned, and waved her back; but she came on. At the chancel steps she raised her veil, and a murmur of recognition and wonder ran through the church.
Like a flash he was on his feet, and, springing into the air to the right, caught a tree steadfast in the rock. The stone fell upon the ledge, and bounded off again. The look of the woman did not follow the stone. She ran to the spot above the whirlpool, and sprang out and down. From Parpon there came a wail such as the hills of the north never heard before.
With a wild cry her gaunt arms stretched across, and caught the great head to her breast. "Where have you been so long, Parpon my son?" she said. Valmond's strength came back quickly, but something had given his mind a new colour.
He and the Little Chemist talked long, their eyes upon the window opposite, inside which Monsieur Valmond and Parpon were in conference. Up the dusty street wandered fitfully the refrain: "To a gentleman of the king, Vive Napoleon!" And once they dimly saw Monsieur Valmond come to the open window and stretch out his hand, as if in greeting to the song and the singer.
IV. The next afternoon the Avocat visited old Farette. Farette was polishing a gun, mumbling the while. Sitting on some bags of meal was Parpon, with a fierce twinkle in his eye. Monsieur Garon told Farette briefly what the Seigneur had left him. With a quick, greedy chuckle Farette threw the gun away. "Man alive!" said he; "tell me all about it. Ah, the good news!"
She snatched up a handful of the herbs, and kissed them with joyful heart. Saved she was saved! Ah, thank the Blessed Virgin! She would thank her for ever! A horrible sinking sensation seized her. Turning in dismay, she saw the face of Parpon at the window. With a blind instinct for protection, she staggered towards the door, and fell, her fingers still clasping the precious herbs.
To every one he said a hearty thing, and sometimes touched his greeting off with a bit of poetry or a rhetorical phrase. These dramatic extravagances served him well, for he was among a race of story-tellers and crude poets. Parpon, uncouth and furtive, moved through the crowd, dispensing as much irony as wine: "Three bucks we come to a pretty inn, 'Hostess, say we, 'have you red wine? Brave!
The children came first, to scorch their fingers and fill their pockets, and after them the idle young men, and the habitants in general. The stranger having warmly shaken Parpon by the hand and again whispered in his ear, stepped forward.
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