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The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the

fountain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard--both melting

away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring of

Time--through three dark hours. Then, the grey water of both

began to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces

of the chateau were opened.

Lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of

the still trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the

glow, the 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 bed-chamber of Monsieur the Marquis, one little bird sang its

sweetest 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.