arch 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 favor, 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, and 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,

"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?")

It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a
book, and who now stood holding the book in his right