The Demoiselle d'Ys

by Robert W. Chambers

　　  Suis descendu on puiz

　　  Ténébreux onquel disoit

　　  Heraclytus estre Vereté cachée."

　　"There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not:

　　"The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid."

　　IThe utter desolation of the scene began to have its effect; I sat down toface the situation and, if possible, recall to mind some landmark whichmight aid me in extricating myself from my present position. If I couldonly find the ocean again all would be clear, for I knew one could seethe island of Groix from the cliffs.

　　I laid down my gun, and kneeling behind a rock lighted a pipe. Then Ilooked at my watch. It was nearly four o'clock. I might have wandered farfrom Kerselec since daybreak.

　　Standing the day before on the cliffs below Kerselec with Goulven,looking out over the sombre moors among which I had now lost my way,these downs had appeared to me level as a meadow, stretching to thehorizon, and although I knew how deceptive is distance, I could notrealize that what from Kerselec seemed to be mere grassy hollows weregreat valleys covered with gorse and heather, and what looked likescattered boulders were in reality enormous cliffs of granite.

　　"It's a bad place for a stranger," old Goulven had said: "you'd bettertake a guide;" and I had replied, "I shall not lose myself." Now I knewthat I had lost myself, as I sat there smoking, with the sea-wind blowingin my face. On every side stretched the moorland, covered with floweringgorse and heath and granite boulders. There was not a tree in sight, muchless a house. After a while, I picked up the gun, and turning my back onthe sun tramped on again.

　　There was little use in following any of the brawling streams which everynow and then crossed my path, for, instead of flowing into the sea, theyran inland to reedy pools in the hollows of the moors. I had followedseveral, but they all led me to swamps or silent little ponds from whichthe snipe rose peeping and wheeled away in an ecstasy of fright I beganto feel fatigued, and the gun galled my shoulder in spite of the doublepads. The sun sank lower and lower, shining level across yellow gorse andthe moorland pools.

　　As I walked my own gigantic shadow led me on, seeming to lengthen atevery step. The gorse scraped against my leggings, crackled beneath myfeet, showering the brown earth with blossoms, and the brake bowed andbillowed along my path. From tufts of heath rabbits scurried away throughthe bracken, and among the swamp grass I heard the wild duck's drowsyquack. Once a fox stole across my path, and again, as I stooped to drinkat a hurrying rill, a heron flapped heavily from the reeds beside me. Iturned to look at the sun. It seemed to touch the edges of the plain.When at last I decided that it was useless to go on, and that I must makeup my mind to spend at least one night on the moors, I threw myself downthoroughly fagged out. The evening sunlight slanted warm across my body,but the sea-winds began to rise, and I felt a chill strike through mefrom my wet shooting-boots. High overhead gulls were wheeling and tossinglike bits of white paper; from some distant marsh a solitary curlewcalled. Little by little the sun sank into the plain, and the zenithflushed with the after-glow. I watched the sky change from palest gold topink and then to smouldering fire. Clouds of midges danced above me, andhigh in the calm air a bat dipped and soared. My eyelids began to droop.Then as I shook off the drowsiness a sudden crash among the brackenroused me. I raised my eyes. A great bird hung quivering in the air abovemy face. For an instant I stared, incapable of motion; then somethingleaped past me in the ferns and the bird rose, wheeled, and pitchedheadlong into the brake.

　　I was on my feet in an instant peering through the gorse. There came thesound of a struggle from a bunch of heather close by, and then all wasquiet. I stepped forward, my gun poised, but when I came to the heatherthe gun fell under my arm again, and I stood motionless in silentastonishment A dead hare lay on the ground, and on the hare stood amagnificent falcon, one talon buried in the creature's neck, the otherplanted firmly on its limp flank. But what astonished me, was not themere sight of a falcon sitting upon its prey. I had seen that more thanonce. It was that the falcon was fitted with a sort of leash about bothtalons, and from the leash hung a round bit of metal like a sleigh-bell.The bird turned its fierce yellow eyes on me, and then stooped and struckits curved beak into the quarry. At the same instant hurried stepssounded among the heather, and a girl sprang into the covert in front.Without a glance at me she walked up to the falcon, and passing hergloved hand under its breast, raised it from the quarry. Then she deftlyslipped a small hood over the bird's head, and holding it out on hergauntlet, stooped and picked up the hare.

　　She passed a cord about the animal's legs and fastened the end of thethong to her girdle. Then she started to retrace her steps through thecovert As she passed me I raised my cap and she acknowledged my presencewith a scarcely perceptible inclination. I had been so astonished, solost in admiration of the scene before my eyes, that it had not occurredto me that here was my salvation. But as she moved away I recollectedthat unless I wanted to sleep on a windy moor that night I had betterrecover my speech without delay. At my first word she hesitated, and as Istepped before her I thought a look of fear came into her beautiful eyes.But as I humbly explained my unpleasant plight, her face flushed and shelooked at me in wonder.

　　"Surely you did not come from Kerselec!" she repeated.

　　Her sweet voice had no trace of the Breton accent nor of any accent whichI knew, and yet there was something in it I seemed to have heard before,something quaint and indefinable, like the theme of an old song.

　　I explained that I was an American, unacquainted with Finistère, shootingthere for my own amusement.

　　"An American," she repeated in the same quaint musical tones. "I havenever before seen an American."

　　For a moment she stood silent, then looking at me she said. "If youshould walk all night you could not reach Kerselec now, even if you had aguide."

　　This was pleasant news.

　　"But," I began, "if I could only find a peasant's hut where I might getsomething to eat, and shelter."

　　The falcon on her wrist fluttered and shook its head. The girl smoothedits glossy back and glanced at me.

　　"Look around," she said gently. "Can you see the end of these moors?Look, north, south, east, west. Can you see anything but moorland andbracken?"

　　"No," I said.

　　"The moor is wild and desolate. It is easy to enter, but sometimes theywho enter never leave it. There are no peasants' huts here."

　　"Well," I said, "if you will tell me in which direction Kerselec lies,to-morrow it will take me no longer to go back than it has to come."

　　She looked at me again with an expression almost like pity.

　　"Ah," she said, "to come is easy and takes hours; to go is different--andmay take centuries."

　　I stared at her in amazement but decided that I had misunderstood her.Then before I had time to speak she drew a whistle from her belt andsounded it.

　　"Sit down and rest," she said to me; "you have come a long distance andare tired."

　　She gathered up her pleated skirts and motioning me to follow picked herdainty way through the gorse to a flat rock among the ferns.

　　"They will be here directly," she said, and taking a seat at one end ofthe rock invited me to sit down on the other edge. The after-glow wasbeginning to fade in the sky and a single star twinkled faintly throughthe rosy haze. A long wavering triangle of water-fowl drifted southwardover our heads, and from the swamps around plover were calling.

　　"They are very beautiful--these moors," she said quietly.

　　"Beautiful, but cruel to strangers," I answered.

　　"Beautiful and cruel," she repeated dreamily, "beautiful and cruel."

　　"Like a woman," I said stupidly.

　　"Oh," she cried with a little catch in her breath, and looked at me. Herdark eyes met mine, and I thought she seemed angry or frightened.

　　"Like a woman," she repeated under her breath, "How cruel to say so!"Then after a pause, as though speaking aloud to herself, "How cruel forhim to say that!"

　　I don't know what sort of an apology I offered for my inane, thoughharmless speech, but I know that she seemed so troubled about it that Ibegan to think I had said something very dreadful without knowing it, andremembered with horror the pitfalls and snares which the French languagesets for foreigners. While I was trying to imagine what I might havesaid, a sound of voices came across the moor, and the girl rose to herfeet.

　　"No," she said, with a trace of a smile on her pale face, "I will notaccept your apologies, monsieur, but I must prove you wrong, and thatshall be my revenge. Look. Here come Hastur and Raoul."

　　Two men loomed up in the twilight. One had a sack across his shouldersand the other carried a hoop before him as a waiter carries a tray. Thehoop was fastened with straps to his shoulders, and around the edge ofthe circlet sat three hooded falcons fitted with tinkling bells. The girlstepped up to the falconer, and with a quick turn of her wristtransferred her falcon to the hoop, where it quickly sidled off andnestled among its mates, who shook their hooded heads and ruffled theirfeathers till the belled jesses tinkled again. The other man steppedforward and bowing respectfully took up the hare and dropped it into thegame-sack.

　　"These are my piqueurs," said the girl, turning to me with a gentledignity. "Raoul is a good fauconnier, and I shall some day make him grandveneur. Hastur is incomparable."

　　The two silent men saluted me respectfully.

　　"Did I not tell you, monsieur, that I should prove you wrong?" shecontinued. "This, then, is my revenge, that you do me the courtesy ofaccepting food and shelter at my own house."

　　Before I could answer she spoke to the falconers, who started instantlyacross the heath, and with a gracious gesture to me she followed. I don'tknow whether I made her understand how profoundly grateful I felt, butshe seemed pleased to listen, as we walked over the dewy heather.

　　"Are you not very tired?" she asked.

　　I had clean forgotten my fatigue in her presence, and I told her so.

　　"Don't you think your gallantry is a little old-fashioned?" she said; andwhen I looked confused and humbled, she added quietly, "Oh, I like it, Ilike everything old-fashioned, and it is delightful to hear you say suchpretty things."

　　The moorland around us was very still now under its ghostly sheet ofmist. The plovers had ceased their calling; the crickets and all thelittle creatures of the fields were silent as we passed, yet it seemed tome as if I could hear them beginning again far behind us. Well inadvance, the two tall falconers strode across the heather, and the faintjingling of the hawks' bells came to our ears in distant murmuringchimes.

　　Suddenly a splendid hound dashed out of the mist in front, followed byanother and another until half-a-dozen or more were bounding and leapingaround the girl beside me. She caressed and quieted them with her glovedhand, speaking to them in quaint terms which I remembered to have seen inold French manuscripts.

　　Then the falcons on the circlet borne by the falconer ahead began to beattheir wings and scream, and from somewhere out of sight the notes of ahunting-horn floated across the moor. The hounds sprang away before usand vanished in the twilight, the falcons flapped and squealed upon theirperch, and the girl, taking up the song of the horn, began to hum. Clearand mellow her voice sounded in the night air.

　　"Chasseur, chasseur, chassez encore,

　　Quittez Rosette et Jeanneton,

　　Tonton, tonton, tontaine, tonton,

　　Ou, pour, rabattre, dès l'aurore,

　　Que les Amours soient de planton,

　　Tonton, tontaine, tonton."

　　As I listened to her lovely voice a grey mass which rapidly grew moredistinct loomed up in front, and the horn rang out joyously through thetumult of the hounds and falcons. A torch glimmered at a gate, a lightstreamed through an opening door, and we stepped upon a wooden bridgewhich trembled under our feet and rose creaking and straining behind usas we passed over the moat and into a small stone court, walled on everyside. From an open doorway a man came and, bending in salutation,presented a cup to the girl beside me. She took the cup and touched itwith her lips, then lowering it turned to me and said in a low voice, "Ibid you welcome."

　　At that moment one of the falconers came with another cup, but beforehanding it to me, presented it to the girl, who tasted it. The falconermade a gesture to receive it, but she hesitated a moment, and then,stepping forward, offered me the cup with her own hands. I felt this tobe an act of extraordinary graciousness, but hardly knew what wasexpected of me, and did not raise it to my lips at once. The girl flushedcrimson. I saw that I must act quickly.

　　"Mademoiselle," I faltered, "a stranger whom you have saved from dangershe may never realize empties this cup to the gentlest and loveliesthostess of France."

　　"In His name," she murmured, crossing herself as I drained the cup. Thenstepping into the doorway she turned to me with a pretty gesture and,taking my hand in hers, led me into the house, saying again and again:"You are very welcome, indeed you are welcome to the Château d'Ys."

　　III awoke next morning with the music of the horn in my ears, and leapingout of the ancient bed, went to a curtained window where the sunlightfiltered through little deep-set panes. The horn ceased as I looked intothe court below.

　　A man who might have been brother to the two falconers of the nightbefore stood in the midst of a pack of hounds. A curved horn was strappedover his back, and in his hand he held a long-lashed whip. The dogswhined and yelped, dancing around him in anticipation; there was thestamp of horses, too, in the walled yard.

　　"Mount!" cried a voice in Breton, and with a clatter of hoofs the twofalconers, with falcons upon their wrists, rode into the courtyard amongthe hounds. Then I heard another voice which sent the blood throbbingthrough my heart: "Piriou Louis, hunt the hounds well and spare neitherspur nor whip. Thou Raoul and thou Gaston, see that the epervierdoes not prove himself niais, and if it be best in your judgment,faites courtoisie à l'oiseau. Jardiner un oiseau, like themué there on Hastur's wrist, is not difficult, but thou, Raoul,mayest not find it so simple to govern that hagard. Twice lastweek he foamed au vif and lost the beccade although he isused to the leurre. The bird acts like a stupidbranchier. Paître un hagard n'est pas si facile."

　　Was I dreaming? The old language of falconry which I had read in yellowmanuscripts--the old forgotten French of the middle ages was sounding inmy ears while the hounds bayed and the hawks' bells tinkled accompanimentto the stamping horses. She spoke again in the sweet forgotten language:

　　"If you would rather attach the longe and leave thy hagard au bloc,Raoul, I shall say nothing; for it were a pity to spoil so faira day's sport with an ill-trained sors. Essimer abaisser,--it ispossibly the best way. Ça lui donnera des reins. I was perhaps hastywith the bird. It takes time to pass à la filière and the exercisesd'escap."

　　Then the falconer Raoul bowed in his stirrups and replied: "If it be thepleasure of Mademoiselle, I shall keep the hawk."

　　"It is my wish," she answered. "Falconry I know, but you have yet to giveme many a lesson in Autourserie, my poor Raoul. Sieur Piriou Louismount!"

　　The huntsman sprang into an archway and in an instant returned, mountedupon a strong black horse, followed by a piqueur also mounted.

　　"Ah!" she cried joyously, "speed Glemarec René! speed! speed all! Soundthy horn, Sieur Piriou!"

　　The silvery music of the hunting-horn filled the courtyard, the houndssprang through the gateway and galloping hoof-beats plunged out of thepaved court; loud on the drawbridge, suddenly muffled, then lost in theheather and bracken of the moors. Distant and more distant sounded thehorn, until it became so faint that the sudden carol of a soaring larkdrowned it in my ears. I heard the voice below responding to some callfrom within the house.

　　"I do not regret the chase, I will go another time Courtesy to thestranger, Pelagie, remember!"

　　And a feeble voice came quavering from within the house,"Courtoisie"

　　I stripped, and rubbed myself from head to foot in the huge earthen basinof icy water which stood upon the stone floor at the foot of my bed. ThenI looked about for my clothes. They were gone, but on a settle near thedoor lay a heap of garments which I inspected with astonishment. As myclothes had vanished, I was compelled to attire myself in the costumewhich had evidently been placed there for me to wear while my own clothesdried. Everything was there, cap, shoes, and hunting doublet of silverygrey homespun; but the close-fitting costume and seamless shoes belongedto another century, and I remembered the strange costumes of the threefalconers in the court-yard. I was sure that it was not the modern dressof any portion of France or Brittany; but not until I was dressed andstood before a mirror between the windows did I realize that I wasclothed much more like a young huntsman of the middle ages than like aBreton of that day. I hesitated and picked up the cap. Should I go downand present myself in that strange guise? There seemed to be no help forit, my own clothes were gone and there was no bell in the ancient chamberto call a servant; so I contented myself with removing a short hawk'sfeather from the cap, and, opening the door, went downstairs.

　　By the fireplace in the large room at the foot of the stairs an oldBreton woman sat spinning with a distaff. She looked up at me when Iappeared, and, smiling frankly, wished me health in the Breton language,to which I laughingly replied in French. At the same moment my hostessappeared and returned my salutation with a grace and dignity that sent athrill to my heart. Her lovely head with its dark curly hair was crownedwith a head-dress which set all doubts as to the epoch of my own costumeat rest. Her slender figure was exquisitely set off in the homespunhunting-gown edged with silver, and on her gauntlet-covered wrist shebore one of her petted hawks. With perfect simplicity she took my handand led me into the garden in the court, and seating herself before atable invited me very sweetly to sit beside her. Then she asked me in hersoft quaint accent how I had passed the night, and whether I was verymuch inconvenienced by wearing the clothes which old Pelagie had putthere for me while I slept. I looked at my own clothes and shoes, dryingin the sun by the garden-wall, and hated them. What horrors they werecompared with the graceful costume which I now wore! I told her thislaughing, but she agreed with me very seriously.

　　"We will throw them away," she said in a quiet voice. In my astonishmentI attempted to explain that I not only could not think of acceptingclothes from anybody, although for all I knew it might be the custom ofhospitality in that part of the country, but that I should cut animpossible figure if I returned to France clothed as I was then.

　　She laughed and tossed her pretty head, saying something in old Frenchwhich I did not understand, and then Pelagie trotted out with a tray onwhich stood two bowls of milk, a loaf of white bread, fruit, a platter ofhoney-comb, and a flagon of deep red wine. "You see I have not yet brokenmy fast because I wished you to eat with me. But I am very hungry," shesmiled.

　　"I would rather die than forget one word of what you have said!" Iblurted out, while my cheeks burned. "She will think me mad," I added tomyself, but she turned to me with sparkling eyes.

　　"Ah!" she murmured. "Then Monsieur knows all that there is of chivalry--"

　　She crossed herself and broke bread. I sat and watched her white hands,not daring to raise my eyes to hers.

　　"Will you not eat?" she asked. "Why do you look so troubled?"

　　Ah, why? I knew it now. I knew I would give my life to touch with my lipsthose rosy palms--I understood now that from the moment when I lookedinto her dark eyes there on the moor last night I had loved her. My greatand sudden passion held me speechless.

　　"Are you ill at ease?" she asked again.

　　Then, like a man who pronounces his own doom, I answered in a low voice:"Yes, I am ill at ease for love of you." And as she did not stir noranswer, the same power moved my lips in spite of me and I said, "I, whoam unworthy of the lightest of your thoughts, I who abuse hospitality andrepay your gentle courtesy with bold presumption, I love you."

　　She leaned her head upon her hands, and answered softly, "I love you.Your words are very dear to me. I love you."

　　"Then I shall win you."

　　"Win me," she replied.

　　But all the time I had been sitting silent, my face turned toward her.She, also silent, her sweet face resting on her upturned palm, sat facingme, and as her eyes looked into mine I knew that neither she nor I hadspoken human speech; but I knew that her soul had answered mine, and Idrew myself up feeling youth and joyous love coursing through every vein.She, with a bright colour in her lovely face, seemed as one awakened froma dream, and her eyes sought mine with a questioning glance which made metremble with delight. We broke our fast, speaking of ourselves. I toldher my name and she told me hers, the Demoiselle Jeanne d'Ys.

　　She spoke of her father and mother's death, and how the nineteen of heryears had been passed in the little fortified farm alone with her nursePelagie, Glemarec René the piqueur, and the four falconers, Raoul,Gaston, Hastur, and the Sieur Piriou Louis, who had served her father.She had never been outside the moorland--never even had seen a human soulbefore, except the falconers and Pelagie. She did not know how she hadheard of Kerselec; perhaps the falconers had spoken of it. She knew thelegends of Loup Garou and Jeanne la Flamme from her nurse Pelagie. Sheembroidered and spun flax. Her hawks and hounds were her onlydistraction. When she had met me there on the moor she had been sofrightened that she almost dropped at the sound of my voice. She had, itwas true, seen ships at sea from the cliffs, but as far as the eye couldreach the moors over which she galloped were destitute of any sign ofhuman life. There was a legend which old Pelagie told, how anybody oncelost in the unexplored moorland might never return, because the moorswere enchanted. She did not know whether it was true, she never hadthought about it until she met me. She did not know whether the falconershad even been outside, or whether they could go if they would. The booksin the house which Pelagie, the nurse, had taught her to read werehundreds of years old.

　　All this she told me with a sweet seriousness seldom seen in any one butchildren. My own name she found easy to pronounce, and insisted, becausemy first name was Philip, I must have French blood in me. She did notseem curious to learn anything about the outside world, and I thoughtperhaps she considered it had forfeited her interest and respect from thestories of her nurse.

　　We were still sitting at the table, and she was throwing grapes to thesmall field birds which came fearlessly to our very feet.

　　I began to speak in a vague way of going, but she would not hear of it,and before I knew it I had promised to stay a week and hunt with hawk andhound in their company. I also obtained permission to come again fromKerselec and visit her after my return.

　　"Why," she said innocently, "I do not know what I should do if you nevercame back;" and I, knowing that I had no right to awaken her with thesudden shock which the avowal of my own love would bring to her, satsilent, hardly daring to breathe.

　　"You will come very often?" she asked.

　　"Very often," I said.

　　"Every day?"

　　"Every day."

　　"Oh," she sighed, "I am very happy. Come and see my hawks."

　　She rose and took my hand again with a childlike innocence of possession,and we walked through the garden and fruit trees to a grassy lawn whichwas bordered by a brook. Over the lawn were scattered fifteen or twentystumps of trees--partially imbedded in the grass--and upon all of theseexcept two sat falcons. They were attached to the stumps by thongs whichwere in turn fastened with steel rivets to their legs just above thetalons. A little stream of pure spring water flowed in a winding coursewithin easy distance of each perch.

　　The birds set up a clamour when the girl appeared, but she went from oneto another, caressing some, taking others for an instant upon her wrist,or stooping to adjust their jesses.

　　"Are they not pretty?" she said. "See, here is a falcon-gentil. We callit 'ignoble,' because it takes the quarry in direct chase. This is a bluefalcon. In falconry we call it 'noble' because it rises over the quarry,and wheeling, drops upon it from above. This white bird is a gerfalconfrom the north. It is also 'noble!' Here is a merlin, and this tierceletis a falcon-heroner."

　　I asked her how she had learned the old language of falconry. She did notremember, but thought her father must have taught it to her when she wasvery young.

　　Then she led me away and showed me the young falcons still in the nest."They are termed niais in falconry," she explained. "Abranchier is the young bird which is just able to leave the nestand hop from branch to branch. A young bird which has not yet moulted iscalled a sors, and a mué is a hawk which has moulted incaptivity. When we catch a wild falcon which has changed its plumage weterm it a hagard. Raoul first taught me to dress a falcon. Shall Iteach you how it is done?"

　　She seated herself on the bank of the stream among the falcons and Ithrew myself at her feet to listen.

　　Then the Demoiselle d'Ys held up one rosy-tipped finger and began verygravely.

　　"First one must catch the falcon."

　　"I am caught," I answered.

　　She laughed very prettily and told me my dressage would perhaps bedifficult, as I was noble.

　　"I am already tamed," I replied; "jessed and belled."

　　She laughed, delighted. "Oh, my brave falcon; then you will return at mycall?"

　　"I am yours," I answered gravely.

　　She sat silent for a moment. Then the colour heightened in her cheeks andshe held up her finger again, saying, "Listen; I wish to speak offalconry--"

　　"I listen, Countess Jeanne d'Ys."

　　But again she fell into the reverie, and her eyes seemed fixed onsomething beyond the summer clouds.

　　"Philip," she said at last.

　　"Jeanne," I whispered.

　　"That is all,--that is what I wished," she sighed,--"Philip and Jeanne."

　　She held her hand toward me and I touched it with my lips.

　　"Win me," she said, but this time it was the body and soul which spoke inunison.

　　After a while she began again: "Let us speak of falconry."

　　"Begin," I replied; "we have caught the falcon."

　　Then Jeanne d'Ys took my hand in both of hers and told me how withinfinite patience the young falcon was taught to perch upon the wrist,how little by little it became used to the belled jesses and thechaperon à cornette.

　　"They must first have a good appetite," she said; "then little by littleI reduce their nourishment; which in falconry we call pât. When,after many nights passed au bloc as these birds are now, I prevailupon the hagard to stay quietly on the wrist, then the bird isready to be taught to come for its food. I fix the pât to the endof a thong, or leurre, and teach the bird to come to me as soon asI begin to whirl the cord in circles about my head. At first I drop thepât when the falcon comes, and he eats the food on the ground.After a little he will learn to seize the leurre in motion as Iwhirl it around my head or drag it over the ground. After this it is easyto teach the falcon to strike at game, always remembering to'faire courtoisie á l'oiseau', that is, to allow the bird to taste thequarry."

　　A squeal from one of the falcons interrupted her, and she arose to adjustthe longe which had become whipped about the bloc, but thebird still flapped its wings and screamed.

　　"What is the matter?" she said. "Philip, can you see?"

　　I looked around and at first saw nothing to cause the commotion, whichwas now heightened by the screams and flapping of all the birds. Then myeye fell upon the flat rock beside the stream from which the girl hadrisen. A grey serpent was moving slowly across the surface of theboulder, and the eyes in its flat triangular head sparkled like jet.

　　"A couleuvre," she said quietly.

　　"It is harmless, is it not?" I asked.

　　She pointed to the black V-shaped figure on the neck.

　　"It is certain death," she said; "it is a viper."

　　We watched the reptile moving slowly over the smooth rock to where thesunlight fell in a broad warm patch.

　　I started forward to examine it, but she clung to my arm crying, "Don't,Philip, I am afraid."

　　"For me?"

　　"For you, Philip,--I love you."

　　Then I took her in my arms and kissed her on the lips, but all I couldsay was: "Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne." And as she lay trembling on my breast,something struck my foot in the grass below, but I did not heed it. Thenagain something struck my ankle, and a sharp pain shot through me. Ilooked into the sweet face of Jeanne d'Ys and kissed her, and with all mystrength lifted her in my arms and flung her from me. Then bending, Itore the viper from my ankle and set my heel upon its head. I rememberfeeling weak and numb,--I remember falling to the ground. Through myslowly glazing eyes I saw Jeanne's white face bending close to mine, andwhen the light in my eyes went out I still felt her arms about my neck,and her soft cheek against my drawn lips.

　　When I opened my eyes, I looked around in terror. Jeanne was gone. I sawthe stream and the flat rock; I saw the crushed viper in the grass besideme, but the hawks and blocs had disappeared. I sprang to my feet.The garden, the fruit trees, the drawbridge and the walled court weregone. I stared stupidly at a heap of crumbling ruins, ivy-covered andgrey, through which great trees had pushed their way. I crept forward,dragging my numbed foot, and as I moved, a falcon sailed from thetree-tops among the ruins, and soaring, mounting in narrowing circles,faded and vanished in the clouds above.

　　"Jeanne, Jeanne," I cried, but my voice died on my lips, and I fell on myknees among the weeds. And as God willed it, I, not knowing, had fallenkneeling before a crumbling shrine carved in stone for our Mother ofSorrows. I saw the sad face of the Virgin wrought in the cold stone. Isaw the cross and thorns at her feet, and beneath it I read:

　　"PRAY FOR THE SOUL OF THE

　　DEMOISELLE JEANNE D'Ys,

　　WHO DIED

　　IN HER YOUTH FOR LOVE OF

　　PHILIP, A STRANGER.

　　A.D. 1573."

　　But upon the icy slab lay a woman's glove still warm and fragrant.