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.