water of the chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the

stone faces crimsoned. The carol of the birds was loud and high,

and, on the weather-beaten sill of the great window of the bedchamber

of Monsieur the Marquis, one little bird sang its sweetest

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

song with all its might. At this, the nearest stone face seemed to

stare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped under-jaw,

looked awe-stricken.

Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village.

Casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and

people came forth shiveringchilled, as yet, by the new sweet air.

Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village

population. Some to the fountain; some, to the fields; men and

women here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to the

poor livestock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture as

could be found by the roadside. In the church and at the Cross, a

kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the led

cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.

The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke

gradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of

the chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamed

trenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and windows were

thrown open, horses in their stab