“No doubt, if that will please you.”
With these words the frog leaped on one of the horses’ backs, and changed himself suddenly into a little dwarf, with bright green dress and smart polished gaiters, like a leather-merchant of Landivisiau.
Jégu, a little scared, drew back a step or two; but the Teuz told him not to be afraid, for that, far from wishing him harm, he was ready to do him good.
“And what makes you take this interest in me?” inquired the peasant, with a suspicious air.
“A service which you rendered to me the last winter,” said the Teuz-à-pouliet. “You doubtless are aware that the Korigans of the White-Wheat country and of Cornouaille declared war against our race, because they say we are too favourably disposed to man.[5] We were obliged to flee into the bishopric of Léon, where at first we concealed ourselves under divers animal forms. Since then, from habit or fancy, we have continued to assume them, and I became acquainted with you through one of these transformations.”
“And how was that?”
“Do you remember, three months ago, whilst working in the alder-park, finding a robin caught in a snare?”
“Yes,” interrupted Jégu; “and I remember also that I let it fly, saying, ‘As for thee, thou dost not eat the bread of Christians: take thy flight, thou bird of the good God.’”
“Ah, well, that robin was myself. Ever since then I vowed to be your faithful friend, and I will prove it too by causing you to marry Barbaik, since you love her so well.”
“Ah, Teuz-à-pouliet, could you but succeed in that,” cried Jégu, “there is nothing in this world, except my soul, that I would not bestow upon you.”