ed the house. It was a wretched hovel, dark, low, damp,
bad-smelling, and full of dust and spiders' webs--a horrible refuge
for a woman accustomed to living in the giant's grand castle. Without
seeming troubled, Finette went to the hearth, on which a few green
boughs were smoking, took another golden bullet from her purse, and
threw it into the fire, saying,

"Golden bullet, precious treasure,
Save me, if it be thy pleasure."

The gold melted, bubbled up, and spread all over the house like
running water, and behold! the whole cottage, the walls, the thatch,
the wooden rocking-chair, the stool, the chest, the bed, the cow's
horns--everything, even to the spiders in their webs, was turned to
gold. The house gleamed in the moonlight, among the trees, like a star
in the night.

When Finette had milked the cow and drank a little new milk, she threw
herself on the bed without undressing, and, worn out by the fatigue
of the day, fell asleep in the midst of her tears.

Old women do not know how to hold their tongues, at least in Brittany.
Finette's hostess had scarcely reached the village when she hastened
to the house of the steward. He was an important personage, who had
more than once made her tremble when she had driven her cow into her
neighbor's pasture by mistake. The steward listened to the old woman's
story, shook his head, and said it looked like witchcraft; then he
mysteriously brought a pair of scales, weighed the guineas, which he
found to be genuine and of full weight, kept as many of them as he
could, and advised the owner to tell no one of this strange adventure.
"If it should come to the ears of the bailiff or the seneschal," said
he, "the least that would happen to you, mother, would be to lose
every one of these beautiful bright guineas. Justice is impartial; it
knows neither favor nor repugnance; it takes the whole."

The old woman thanked the steward for his advice, and promised to
follow it. She kept her word so well that she only told her story that
evening to two neighbors, her dearest friends, both of whom swore on
the heads of their little children to keep it secret. The oath was a
solemn one, and so well kept that at noon the next day there was not a
boy of six in the village that did not point his finger at the old
woman, while the very dogs seemed to bark in their language, "Here is
the old woman with her guineas!"

A girl that amuses herself by filling milk-pails with gold is not to