“Now will you do it again?” Montézuma would ask in a stern voice. “Oh, no! no! my good Montézuma,” I would cry, “I will never, never do so any more.” “Then, Croquemitaine,”—Montézuma would say in a gentle voice,—“you can go away, we will not give you our little Paul to-day; for he has promised to be a good boy.” [Illustration:Decoration] “All right! all right! I shall have him the next time,” a most terrible gruff voice would answer. And repeating “all right” a good many times, the voice sounding less and less distinct and further away each time, Croquemitaine would depart for that occasion. As I grew bigger Croquemitaine came less frequently. I believe that Montézuma got tired of always employing the same means of keeping me in order. Still I did not lose my faith in this supernatural being. Very often, when the furniture creaked, or the wind whistled down the chimney or in the passages; when the porridge-pot boiled over, and made strange grumbling sounds, I felt that there was something more than usual in these noises; something very strange and mysterious. Then my heart would beat violently, and Montézuma bursting out laughing would cry, “Ah! ah! ah! how white your nose has turned!” “But,” would I reply in a piteous tone of voice, “I have not been naughty.” “That you know best!” Montézuma would answer sententiously. “What does your conscience say?” ------------------ VIII. THE COLONEL’S HORSE. THE tormentor chosen by Montézuma to succeed Croquemitaine, was the horse belonging to the colonel of my father’s regiment. It was a beautiful white horse with a splendid mane, and a grand thick tail which swept the ground. When he stamped and snorted, and turned his graceful head from side to side, he looked so intelligent, that I easily believed everything that Montézuma told me about him. This marvellous horse, according to Montézuma, knew all that passed, and repeated it to the colonel; also, if I did not take care, all my particular misdeeds to my father. For instance, Montézuma would say, “So you won’t eat your soup?” “No! I won’t eat my soup! and pray, what of that?” I would reply. “Very well,” was the answer, “the colonel’s horse will tell your father to-morrow on parade!”