cut into small pieces in an earthen basin, which he set before the
baron; then, fetching from the cupboard a dish of bacon, cold, and
cooked in Gascon fashion, he placed that also upon the table, and had
nothing else to add to this meagre repast. The baron ate it slowly,
with an absent air, while Miraut and Beelzebub, one on each side of him,
received their full share from his kind hand.

The supper finished, he fell into a deep reverie. Miraut had laid his
head caressingly upon his master's knee, and looked up into his face
with loving, intelligent eyes, somewhat dimmed by age, but still seeming
to understand his thoughts and sympathize with his sadness. Beelzebub
purred loudly meantime, and occasionally mewed plaintively to attract
his attention, while Pierre stood in a respectful attitude, cap in hand,
at a little distance, motionless as a statue, waiting patiently until
his master's wandering thoughts should return. By this time the darkness
had fallen, and the flickering radiance from the few sticks blazing
in the great fireplace made strange effects of light and shade in the
spacious old kitchen. It was a sad picture; this last scion of a noble
race, formerly rich and powerful, left wandering like an uneasy ghost in
the castle of his ancestors, with but one faithful old servant remaining
to him of the numerous retinue of the olden times; one poor old dog,
half starved, and gray with age, where used to be a pack of thirty
hounds; one miserable, superannuated pony in the stable where twenty
horses had been wont to stand; and one old cat to beg for caresses from
his hand.

At last the baron roused himself, and signed to Pierre that he wished to
retire to his own chamber; whereupon the servant lighted a pine knot at
the fire, and preceded his master up the stairs, Miraut and Beelzebub
accompanying them. The smoky, flaring light of the torch made the faded