Again Monsieur Garon read, his voice trembling a little. The words of the will ran: “But if this condition be not satisfied, I bequeath to my son Armand the house known as the House with the Tall Porch, and the land, according to the deed thereof; and the residue of my property—with the exception of two thousand dollars, which I leave to the Cure of the parish, the good Monsieur Fabre—I bequeath to Parpon the dwarf.”
Then followed a clause providing that, in any case, Parpon should have in fee simple the land known as the Bois Noir, and the hut thereon.
Armand sprang to his feet in surprise, blurting out something, then sat down, quietly took the will, and read it through carefully. When he had finished he looked inquiringly, first at Monsieur Garon, then at the Cure. “Why Parpon?” he said searchingly.
The Cure, amazed, spread out his hands in a helpless way. At that moment Sylvie announced Parpon. Armand asked that he should be sent in. “We’ll talk of the will afterwards,” he added.
Parpon trotted in, the door closed, and he stood blinking at them. Armand put a stool on the table. “Sit here, Parpon,” he said. Medallion caught the dwarf under the arms and lifted him on the table.
Parpon looked at Armand furtively. “The wild hawk comes back to its nest,” he said. “Well, well, what is it you want with the poor Parpon?”
He sat down and dropped his chin in his hands, looking round keenly. Armand nodded to Medallion, and Medallion to the priest, but the priest nodded back again. Then Medallion said: “You and I know the Rock of Red Pigeons, Parpon. It is a good place to perch. One’s voice is all to one’s self there, as you know. Well, sing us the song of the little brown diver.”
Parpon’s hands twitched in his beard. He looked fixedly at Medallion. Presently he turned towards the Cure, and shrank so that he looked smaller still.
“It’s all right, little son,” said the Cure kindly. Turning sharply on Medallion, Parpon said: “When was it you heard?”
Medallion told him. He nodded, then sat very still. They said nothing, but watched him. They saw his eyes grow distant and absorbed, and his face took on a shining look, so that its ugliness was almost beautiful. All at once he slid from the stool and crouched on his knees. Then he sent out a low long note, like the toll of the bell-bird. From that time no one stirred as he sang, but sat and watched him. They did not even hear Sylvie steal in gently and stand in the curtains at the door.