THE RED DRAGON

Just one year after the death of his father and brother, on a winter evening when the north wind was blowing hard enough to uproot rocks, the lord André was alone in his room.

He had received, during the day, the sum of the tithes in money that he levied from his tenants, and wishing to put them in safety, he had opened the family treasury where were piled up tons gorged with gold, baskets full of diamonds and pearls, and large chests filled to the lid with silver ingots.

He was contemplating these marvelous riches with pride and applauding himself for the act that had made him their master, when he heard at the back of the treasury room something like a prolonged sigh.

His blood froze in his veins and he barely had the strength to look before him.

Suddenly, a voice called him twice:
"André! André!"

Then, he ventured to cast his eyes toward the back of the room, and suddenly he let out a cry of terror. His father was before him.

And next to his father stood the murdered Jehan, still carrying in his chest the two red holes that André’s dagger had made there.

"My father! My brother!" cried the murderer. "Mercy! Mercy!"

He fell to his knees before the two motionless and threatening specters.

And the north wind outside began to blow more icy and more violent, and the castle walls trembled to their very foundations.

"Mercy," repeated the wretch.

"God has judged you, your hour has come," pronounced the specter of Jehan slowly. "God had given you