lease her, for her eyes sparkled, and she placed her hand again in
his.

Finette cast down her head and began to weep. All was over.

"Children," cried the baron, in a voice of thunder, "fill your
glasses. Let us drink to the noble stranger who honors us with her
presence. To the noble lady of the golden cottage!"

All began to huzzah and drink. Yvon contented himself with raising his
goblet to a level with his eyes. Suddenly he started and stood mute,
his mouth open and his eyes fixed, like a man that has a vision.

It was a vision. In the gold of the goblet Yvon saw his past life as
in a mirror: the giant pursuing him; Finette dragging him along; both
embarking in the ship that saved them; both landing on the shore of
Brittany; he quitting her for an instant; she weeping at his
departure. Where was she? By his side, of course. What other woman
than Finette could be by the side of Yvon?

He turned toward the fair-haired lady and cried out like a man
treading on a serpent. Then, staggering as if he were drunk, he rose
and looked around him with haggard eyes. At the sight of Finette he
clasped his trembling hands and, dragging himself toward her, fell on
his knees and exclaimed, "Finette, forgive me!"

To forgive is the height of happiness. Before evening Finette was
seated by the side of Yvon, both weeping and smiling.

And what became of the fair-haired lady? No one knows. At the cry of
Yvon she disappeared; but it was said that a wretched old hag was seen
flying on a broomstick over the castle walls, chased by the dogs; and
it was the common opinion among the Kervers that the fair-haired lady
was none other than the witch, the godmother of the giant. I am not
sure enough of the fact, however, to dare warrant it. It is always
prudent to believe, without proof, that a woman may be a witch, but it
is never wise to say so.

What I can say on the word of a historian is that the feast,
interrupted for a moment, went on gayer than ever. Early the next
morning they went to the church, where, to the joy of his heart, Yvon
married Finette, who was no longer afraid of evil spirits; after which
they ate, drank, and danced for thirty-six hours, without any one
thinking of resting. The steward's arms were a little heavy, the
bailiff rubbed his back at times, and the seneschal felt a sort of
weariness in his limbs, but all three had a weight on their
consciences which they could not shake off, and which made them
tremble a