“The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in better days.”

Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it was not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the cell less frequently, and reassumed the harsh manners which he held to befit his office.

Monsieur the Viscount’s mind rambled much in his illness.  He called for his mother, who had long been dead.  He fancied himself in his own chateau.  He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him, but that not one would move to wait on him.  He thought that he had abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed just beyond his reach.  He thought that he saw two lights like stars near together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and then vanishing away.  In time he became more sensible; the chateau melted into the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food became bread and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in the empty cell, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied that he saw two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then vanishing away.  He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no longer, and he closed his eyes and slept.  When he awoke he was much better, but when he raised himself and turned towards the stone—­there, by the bread and the broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, wrinkled toad, gazing at him, Monsieur the Viscount, with eyes of yellow fire.

Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had alarmed his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not been lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to fare no better than the toad of the chateau.  He dragged himself from his pallet, and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about the floor of the cell, to throw at the intruder.  He expected that when he approached it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw the stone after it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, looking at him with calm shining eyes, and, somehow or other, Monsieur the Viscount lacked strength or heart to kill it.  He stood doubtful for a moment, and then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to drop the stone, and sit down, while tears sprang to his eyes with the sense of his helplessness.

“Why should I kill it?” he said, bitterly.  “The beast will live and grow fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put an end to my feeble life.  It shall remain.  The cell is not big, but it is big enough for us both.  However large be the rooms a man builds himself to live in, it needs but little space in which to die!”

So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with his efforts, lay down and slept heavily.