OR THE DESERT ISLAND. 29

them severely. Philip Merville was just then crossing
the park by a public pathway that led to the village. It
was the first day he had begun to work since his sister’s
demise. He was walking along in a mournful manner,
carrying on his back his basket of tools, his eyes fixed on
the earth, and his attention abstracted from all that was
passing around him. Valiant was following him, when
unluckily, just as the count was passing near him, a hare
started from some brushwoed and Valiant set off in pursuit
of her.

“See how the game disappear from this park !” cried
the count in an angry voice; and, yielding to his bad
humour, he took aim at the dog. The gun which had
that day so often failed did not miss fire this time: the
faithful spaniel fell mortally wounded, and, dragging bim-
self painfully to his master’s feet, expired there. Philip
expressed so much grief at the death of his favourite, that
the count himself could hardly remain unmoved ; but, dis-
sembling his feelings, “What a fool he is,” said he to his
valet, “to show so much regret for a dog!”

Philip took the mangled body of poor Valiant in his
arms, and passing by the young count, he darted upon
him a glance of mingled indignation and contempt.

3*