“This fire, which consumed me,” replied the third.
“How can I take so long a journey?” once more asked Tryphyna.
“Make use of this staff, which crushed my temples,” said the last.
Comorre’s wife took the staff, the torch, the cord, and the poison. She silenced the dog, she scaled the lofty wall, she penetrated the darkness, and took the road to Vannes, where her father dwelt.
Comorre, not being able to find her the next morning when he rose, sent his page to search for her in every chamber; but the page returned with the tidings that Tryphyna was no longer in the castle.
Then the count went up the donjon-tower, and looked out to the four winds.
To the north he saw a raven that croaked; to the sunrise a swallow on the wing; to the south a wailing sea-mew; and to the west a turtle-dove that sped away.
He instantly exclaimed that Tryphyna was in that direction; and having his horse saddled, set out in pursuit.
His unfortunate wife was still upon the border of the wood which surrounded the count’s castle; but she was warned of his approach by seeing the ring grow black. Then she turned aside over the common, and came to the cabin of a poor shepherd, whose sole possession was an old magpie hanging in a cage.
The poor lady lay concealed there the whole day, bemoaning herself and praying; and when night came on, she once more set forth along the paths which skirt the fields of flax and corn.