Réné took from her the extinguished taper, and went into the adjoining room to relight it.
On his return he saw the hen hiding its head in the tunnel.
"This time," said Catharine, "I will prevent the cries, for I will cut off the head at once."
And accordingly, as soon as the hen was bound, Catharine, as she had said, severed the head at a single blow; but in the last agony the beak opened three times, and then closed forever.
"Do you see," said Catharine, terrified, "instead of three cries, three sighs? Always three!—they will all three die. All these spirits before they depart count and call three. Let us now see the prognostications in the head."
She severed the bloodless comb from the head, carefully opened the skull, and laying bare the lobes of the brain endeavored to trace a letter formed in the bloody sinuosities made by the division of the central pulp.
"Always so!" cried she, clasping her hands; "and this time clearer than ever; see here!"
Réné approached.
"What is the letter?" asked Catharine.
"An H," replied Réné.