ticularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy
orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a
costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to
exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the
Preceptor had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin
betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as
well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable
parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,
especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in
keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in
the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence
made those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a
gift the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which
his heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of
the late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have
felt fully the deep importance of your dress being _a la mode_, and
your complexion _a la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still
exist); but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the
magic died at once out of brocaded silks and pearl-coloured stockings,
and dress and complexion became subjects almost of insignificance.
Monsieur the Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been
chosen as an inmate of such a household; but, though young, he had
unusual talents, and added to them the not more usual accompaniments
of modesty and trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in
times when piety was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the
church of which he was a minister. Moreover, a family that fashion
does not permit to be demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected
credit from an austere chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor
remained in the chateau and went his own way. It was this man who now
laid hands on the Viscount, and, in a voice that sounded like amiable
thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que faites-vous?_"

"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said
Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutors
finger and thumb.

"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic
tones.

"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is
enough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison: it is
like tha