became a bud again.
You know very well, Ninon, that the Love-Fairy exists. Look at her dancing on our hearth, and pity the poor people who do not believe in my beautiful fairy.
When Odette awoke, the sun was shining in her room, the song of a bird ascended from the outside, and the morning breeze, perfumed with the first kiss it had just given to the flowers, fondled her flaxen locks. She arose full of happiness, and passed the day singing, having hope in what the good fairy had told her. At times she gazed at the country, smiling at each bird that flew by, and feeling an impulse within her that made her leap and clap her little hands together.
In the evening she went down into the large hall of the castle. Beside Count Enguerrand was a knight listening to the old man’s stories. She took her distaff, seated herself in front of the hearth, where a cricket was singing, and the ivory spindle spun round rapidly between her fingers.
Whilst busy at her work, she cast a glance at the knight, and perceived that he had her sprig of sweet majoram in his hands, and then she recognised Lois of the tender voice. She almost shrieked with joy. To conceal her blushes she bent down towards the fire; stirring up the embers with a long iron rod. The burning wood crackled, burst into flames, gave out reports and threw up sheaves of sparks; and suddenly in the midst of the latter appeared the Loving-One, smiling and ardent. She shook from her green silk gown the pieces of live charcoal, which were sprinkled over it like golden spangles; and springing into the room, went, invisible to the count, and placed herself behind the young people. There, whilst the old knight was relating a frightful battle with the infidels, she softly said to them:
“Love one another, my children. Leave remembrances to austere old age, leave to it the long stories beside the burning embers. Let naught but the sound of your kisses be mingled with the crackling of the fire. Later on it will be time enough to soothe your sorrow by recalling these happy moments. When one is in love at sixteen, there is no need for the voice; a single look says more than a long speech. Love one another, my children; let old age talk.”
Then she enveloped them so thoroughly with her wings, that the count, who was explaining how the giant Buch-Iron-Head was slain by a terrific blow from Giralda-the-Heavy-Sword, did not notice Loïs imprinting his first kiss on Odette’s quivering forehead.
I must tell you, Ninon, about those beautiful wings of my Love-Fairy. They were as transparent as glass, and as thin as the wings of gnats. But, when the sweethearts were in danger of being seen, they enlarged, enlarged and became so obscure, so thick that they stopped the look and smothered the sound of kisses. And so the old man went on with the prodigious story for a long time, and for a long time did Lois fondle Odette the fair, under the wicked suzerain’s nose.
Good heavens! good heavens! what lovely wings they were! Young girls, they tell me, sometimes find them again; and it is thus that more than one of them is able to hide herself from the eyes of her parents. Is it true, Ninon?
When the count had got to the end of his protracted story, the Love-Fairy disappeared in the flame, and Loïs went off, thanking his host, and sending Odette a final kiss. The young girl slept so happy that night, that she dreamt of mountains of flowers lighted by thousands of stars, each of which was a thousand times more brilliant than the sun.
The next day she went down to the garden, searching in the most obscure arbours. She met a warrior, bowed to him, and was about to withdraw when she noticed in his hands the sprig of sweet majoram bathed in tears. And so she again recognised Loïs of the tender voice, who had just succeeded in reentering the castle under a new form of disguise. He made her sit down on a turfy seat beside a spring. They gazed at one another, delighted at seeing each other in broad daylight. The fauvettes were singing, and there was something in the air which indicated that the good fairy must be wandering in the neighbourhood. I will not repeat to you all the things that the discreet old oak-trees heard; it was a pleasure to listen to the lovers chattering together so long, so long that a fauvette which happened to be in a neighbouring bush had time to build a nest.
All at once the heavy tread of Count Enguerrand resounded along the walk. The two poor lovers trembled. But the water at the spring sang more softly, and the Loving-One emerged, laughing and ardent, from the clear stream of the source. She surrounded the lovers with her wings, then lightly tripped along with them, passing beside the count, who was astonished at having heard voices and finding no one.
She soothes her cherished ones, she walks on, saying to them in a very low voice:
“I am she who protects love-making, she who closes the eyes and ears of those who love no more. Fear nothing, handsome lovers; love one another in broad daylight, in the lanes, beside the springs, wherever you may be. I am there, and I watch over you. Providence has placed me here below so that men, those mockers of all righteousness, may never come and trouble your feelings. It gave me my beautiful wings and said to me, ‘Go, and may young hearts rejoice.’ Love one another; I am there, and I watch over you.”
And she walked on, imbibing the dew which was her only food, leading along Odette and Loïs, whose hands were interlaced, in a joyful roundabout dance.
You want me to tell you what she did with the two lovers. Really, my pet, I dare not do so. I am afraid you will not believe me, or else that, jealous of their good fortune, you will cease returning me my kisses. But now you are very curious to know, naughty girl, and I can see that I shall have to satisfy you.
So, know that the fairy wandered about thus until night. When she wished to separate the lovers, she saw them so pained, but so pained at having to leave one another, that she began to speak to them in a whisper. It seems that she told them something very beautiful, for their faces were beaming, and their eyes expanded with delight. And, when she had spoken and they had consented, she touched their foreheads with her wand.
Suddenly — oh! Ninon, what great wondering eyes! How you would tap your foot, were I not to tell you the end!
Loïs and Odette were suddenly transformed into sprigs of sweet majoram, but such lovely majoram that only a fairy could make any like it. They found themselves placed side by side, so close to one another that their leaves entwined together. Marvellous flowers grew there, which were always to remain in bloom; exchanging their perfume and dew everlastingly.
As to Count Enguerrand, they say that he consoled himself by relating every night how the giant Buch-Iron-Head was slaughtered by a terrific blow from Giralda-Heavy-Sword And now, Ninon, when we go into the country, we will seek for the enchanted sweet majorams, to ask them in which flower the Love-Fairy is. Perhaps, my pet, a moral is concealed in this tale. But I have only told it you, with our feet before the grate, to make you forget the December rain which is beating against our windows, and to instil a little more love in you, tonight, for the young story-teller.
BLOOD
HERE already are many sunbeams, many flowers, many perfumes. Are you not tired, Ninon, of this everlasting spring? Always loving, always chaunting that dream of sixteen summers. You fall asleep at night, naughty girl, when I talk to you at great length of the coquetry of the rose, and the infidelity of the dragon-fly. You close your great eyes wearily, and I, who no longer find inspiration there, stammer on, without coming to a conclusion.
I’ll vanquish your idle eyelids, Ninon. To-day I am going to relate such a terrible tale to you, that you’ll not close them for a week. Listen. Terror is delicious after a deal of laughter.
I
Four soldiers,
