Armand raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Very good,” he said. “When will he be here?”
“He is waiting at the Louis Quinze hotel.”
“I will send for him,” said Armand, and gave the message to Sylvie, who was entering the room.
After they had drunk the wine placed before them, there was silence for a moment, for all were wondering why Parpon should be remembered in the Seigneur’s Will.
“Well,” said Medallion at last, “a strange little dog is Parpon. I could surprise you about him—and there isn’t any reason why I should keep the thing to myself. One day I was up among the rocks, looking for a strayed horse. I got tired, and lay down in the shade of the Rock of Red Pigeons—you know it. I fell asleep. Something waked me. I got up and heard the finest singing you can guess: not like any I ever heard; a wild, beautiful, shivery sort of thing. I listened for a long time. At last it stopped. Then something slid down the rock. I peeped out, and saw Parpon toddling away.”
The Cure stared incredulously, the Avocat took off his glasses and tapped his lips musingly, Armand whistled softly.
“So,” said Armand at last, “we have the jewel in the toad’s head. The clever imp hid it all these years—even from you, Monsieur le Cure.”
“Even from me,” said the Cure, smiling. Then, gravely: “It is strange, the angel in the stunted body.”
“Are you sure it’s an angel?” said Armand.
“Who ever knew Parpon do any harm?” queried the Cure.