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 stables looked round over their

shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves

sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at

their chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.

All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life and the

return of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of

the chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor the

hurried figures on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping here

and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and

riding away?

What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of

roads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his

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day’s dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was

worth no crow’s while to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the

birds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one over

him as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender of

roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill,

knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.

All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about

in their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no

other emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows,

hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them,

were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud of

nothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had picked

up in their interrupted saunter. Some of the people of the chateau,

and some of those of the posting-house, and all the taxing

authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on the