Poor Candid! his end was peaceful, he went down on his knees, then he fell over, two or three times he raised his noble head and opened his great bright eyes,--then he half closed them, gave a sigh, and was dead. I never loved a horse so well, nor will I ever care for another one as I did for him, he was so intelligent and beautiful, he had so much energy and adroitness, besides being perfectly intrepid! He never balked at anything; was there an obstacle at the sight of which another horse would have hesitated, he came up to it proud, calm, and brave, and leaped over it as though it were play. And then he looked so free and joyous under the bridle, one would have said that the valiant animal was under no restraint, but wore the bit as an ornament. Poor Candid! his courage was my pride! Confiding in his strength, I dared to face dangers that otherwise would have affrighted me. Trusting in his speed and stubborn energy, I accepted every wager. Poor Candid! it was his speed and stubborn energy that were the causes of his death. He was the only horse I owned that could have done what he did, what very few would have attempted; he accomplished his task valiantly and gained me a smile from Marguerite. Poor Candid! I did not know to what risk I exposed him, and now--I do not know whether I should have the courage to do it again. This is the cause of Candid's death: This morning we went with Don Luiz to see the Château of ----, that Marguerite wishes to purchase; this château is at a distance of three leagues and a half from Paris. In visiting the apartments I gave my arm to Marguerite, and we were followed by Don Luiz and the overseer of the château. When we were in the library, we noticed a very fine portrait of a lady of the seventeenth century; the hands were adorable in their delicacy and beauty of form. They were so adorable that they resembled Marguerite's. She denied it; so I begged her to take off her glove and let us compare her hands with those of the portrait. They were strikingly alike. How could I see such beautiful hands without kissing them? We heard Don Luiz's step, and we continued our examination of the library. After seeing the château we returned to Paris. As Marguerite felt tired, she asked me to come and spend a quiet evening with her. I promised to do so. When I arrived there I found her pale and sad; she was evidently quite overcome. "What is the matter?" said I to her. "You will laugh at me,"--she had tears in her eyes,--"but I have lost a bracelet that belonged to my mother; I had it on this morning. You know how I prize it, and will understand how grieved I am. I have sought for it everywhere. It is nowhere--nowhere!" As she told me this, I remembered confusedly having seen, when Marguerite took off her glove, something that shone brilliantly, and which fell to the floor just as I was kissing her hand in the library, but, being so enchanted by the kiss, I paid no attention to anything else.