"Wretch! you kill my daughter and you think that I ought to be satisfied! I am furious. Begone, if you would not die by my hand!"
"I will go when I have cut off your nose," said Coranda. "I have kept my word. Do you keep yours."
"Stop!" cried the farmer, putting his hand before his face. "You will surely let me redeem my nose?"
"It depends on what you offer," said Coranda.
"Will you take ten sheep for it?"
"No."
"Ten cows?"
"No; I would rather cut off your nose." And he sharpened his knife on the door-step.
"Father," said Helen, "the fault was mine; it belongs to me to repair it. Coranda, will you take my hand instead of my father's nose?"
"Yes," replied Coranda.