man with the seamed face was no other than Drunken Steve of Heritzburg, whom we had left behind us in the castle, to be cured of his wounds. I had punished him a dozen times; almost as often my lady had threatened to drive him from the place and her service. Always he had had the name of a sullen, wilful fellow. But I had found him staunch as any tyke in time of need, and for dogged fidelity and a ferocious courage, proof against the utmost danger, I knew I could depend on him against the world; while the prompt line of conduct he had adopted at sight of me led me to hope something from wits which drink had not yet deadened.

It was well I had this spark of hope, for I found the Waldgrave so ill as to be beyond comfort or counsel, and without it I should have been in a parlous state. The place of our confinement was roofless, ill-smelling, strewn with refuse and filth, a mere dog-yard. A little straw alone protected us from the soil. Everything we did was watched through the open bars of the gate; and bad as this place was, we shared it with two soldiers, who lay, heavily shackled, in one corner, and sullenly eyed my movements.

I did what I could for the Waldgrave, and then, as darkness fell, I sat down with my back to the wall and thought over our position-miserably enough. Half an hour passed. I was beginning to nod, when a slight noise as of a rat gnawing a board caught my ear. I raised my head and listened. The sound came from the gate. I stood up and crept towards it, and as I expected, I found Steve on guard outside. Even in the darkness it was impossible to mistake his huge figure.

'Hush!' he muttered. 'Is it you, master?'

'Yes,' I whispered in the same tone. 'Are you alone?' 'For the moment,' he answered hoarsely. 'Not for long, so speak quickly, master. What is to be done?'

Alas! that was more than I could say. 'What of my lady?' I asked vaguely. 'Is she here? In the camp?'

'To be sure,' he answered.

'And Marie Wort? The Papist girl?'

'Yes, yes.'

'Then you must see Marie,' I answered. 'She will know my lady's mind. Until we know that, we can do nothing. Do not tell her where I am-it may hurt the girl-or of the Waldgrave, but learn how they are. If things are bad with the Countess, bid them gain time. You understand?'

'Yes, yes, master,' he grunted. 'And that is to be all, is it? You will have nothing done to-night?'

'What, here?'

'To be sure.'

'No, no,' I replied, trembling for the man's rashness. 'We can do nothing here until horses are got and placed for us, and the pass-word learned, and provisions gathered, and half a dozen other things.'

'Donner! I don't know how all that is to be done,' he muttered despondently.

'Nor I,' I said with a shiver. 'You have not heard anything of a-a shooting-match, have you?' I added.

'It is for Sunday,' he answered.

'And to-day is Tuesday,' I said. 'Steve! you will not lose time, will you?'

'No, no.'

'You will see her in the morning? In the morning, lad,' I continued feverishly, clinging to the bars and peering out at him. 'I must get out of this before Sunday! And this is Tuesday, Steve!'

'Hush!' he answered. 'They are coming back.'

(To be continued.)

NOIRAUD.

BY LUDOVIC HALÉVY (OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY).

(Translated by express permission of the Author.)

'You needn't be the least afraid, sir! We shan't miss the train. For fifteen years I've driven people to the station, and never once missed the train! Do you understand, sir? Not once have I missed the train in fifteen years!'

'That's all very well, but--'

'Oh, you needn't look at your watch; there is something you don't know and which you ought to be told, for your watch will not tell it you, and that is this train is always a good quarter of an hour late. It has never been known to be anything else but a quarter of an hour late, without exception.' The exception happened on this very day. The train had been punctual, and I missed it. My driver was furious.

'You should have warned me!' he cried out to the stationmaster. People ought to be told when your trains take to starting at the exact time. Such a thing has never been heard. of before!' And calling to witness the lookers-on, 'Have you ever heard of such a thing? I don't want the gentleman to think I am to blame! A train actually starting from the station at the right time! Tell him it never happened before.

this the very first time?'

There was a general growl of assent.

'Yes, yes, it's always late enough.'

Isn't

All the same, I had no less than three mortal hours to wait in a very dreary village, in the Canton de Vaud, at the foot of two very melancholy mountains, each with a little smudge of snow on its top.

How on earth were these three hours to be got through! In my turn I appealed to the station-master and his assistants. And anew there arose a general outcry

'Go to see the Chaudron! That's the only thing to be seen in the country.'

And where was the Chaudron? On the mountain, to the right-half-way up; but the way there was rather difficult to find, and they told me I had better take a guide. And down away there, in that small white house with green shutters I could find the best guide of the place—a fine fellow, Father Simon.

Off I started, and on my knocking at the door of the little cottage, an old woman opened it for me.

'Old Simon's?'

'Yes, this is his place. But-if it's to go to the Chaudron.' 'Yes, I want to visit the Chaudron.'

'Well, he's not quite himself this morning-poor old Simon! He has not the use of his legs. He can't go out to-day! But that doesn't matter; I have got some one who can go instead, There is Noiraud.'

'All right, send for Noiraud.'

'But I must tell you-Noiraud is not a person.'

'Not a person!'

'No, he's our dog!'

'What! Your dog?'

'Yes, Noiraud―― He'll guide you all right, just as well as my husband. He's quite accustomed.'

'Accustomed?'

'Perfectly. For years and years old Simon has taken him. along with him; so he has learnt to know all the ins and outs, and now is quite able to conduct the whole business very well on his own account. He very often takes charge of visitors, and they always sing his praises. As far as his intelligence goes, you can trust him; he has as much as you or I myself. He only wants speech. But speech is not necessary, if he had to show a monument, yes-because then he would have to relate anecdotes and give historical dates. But here there are only the beauties of nature. Take Noiraud. And besides he will not cost you so much. It is three francs for my husband; Noiraud, he is only thirty sous; and he will show you as much for thirty sous as my husband for three francs.' 'Very good, where is Noiraud?'

'He is lying down, basking outside in the garden. He has already taken some English to the Chaudron this morning. Shall I call him ?'

'Yes, call him.'

'Noiraud! Noiraud!'

He jumped in through the window with a bound. He was

rather an ugly little black dog, with long, frizzy, and tangled coat. He was certainly not much to look at; but he had, all the same, in his whole personality, a certain air of gravity, decision, and importance. His first look was towards myself— a look at once frank, precise, and confident, which rapidly took me in from head to foot; a look which said, clearly enough, 'This is a tourist. He wants to see the Chaudron.'

Missing one train was sufficient for me, at least that day, and I certainly did not intend to expose myself a second time to a similar misadventure. I explained to the good woman that I had only three hours for my walk to the Chaudron. 'Oh! I know that quite well,' said she; 'you are going by the four o'clock train. Don't be afraid. Noiraud will bring you back in good time. Off you go, Noiraud. Go on, my boy, go along.'

But Noiraud did not appear at all inclined to set off so quickly. He remained there without stirring, looking up at his mistress with evident meaning.

'Ah, how stupid I am!' said the old woman, 'I quite forgot; I was forgetting the sugar.'

She went and took four lumps out of a drawer and gave them

to me.

'That's why he wouldn't start; you hadn't got the lumps of sugar. You see, Noiraud, the gentleman has the sugar. Now start off, my boy. To the Chaudron! to the Chaudron! to the Chaudron!'

She repeated these words three times, speaking very slowly and very distinctly; and while she did so, I watched and examined Noiraud attentively. He responded to the words of his mistress by little signs of his head, more and more accentuated, which by the time she had finished showed some impatience and a little temper. They might, perhaps, be interpreted to mean, 'Yes, yes, to the Chaudron. I understandthe gentleman has got the lumps of sugar-and we go to the Chaudron. It's quite understood. Do you take me for a mere beast?'

And without even waiting for Madame Simon to finish her third to the Chaudron!' Noiraud, evidently offended, turned away from her, and planting himself in front of me, gave me a look, motioning me towards the door, which said as clearly as it is possible for a dog to say it: 'Come along. Let us start. You-I mean you!'