"A woman caused the harm," said Sybille, raising her head with a faraway look in her eyes, "a woman will redress it."
"How can that be?"
"A woman lost Gaul," resumed Sybille, more and more dreamily, with her eyes resting on space, "a young girl shall save Gaul. Is the prophecy about to be fulfilled? Praise be to God!"
"What prophecy, god-mother?"
"The prophecy of Merlin, the famous enchanter. Merlin, the bard of Brittany."
"And when did he make the prophecy?"
"More than a thousand years ago."
"More than a thousand years! Was Merlin then a saint, god-mother? He must have been a great saint!"
Absorbed in her own thoughts, Sybille did not seem to hear the young shepherdess's question. With her eyes still gazing afar, she murmured slowly the old chant of Armorica:
"Merlin, Merlin, whither this morning with your black dog?
'I come here to look for the egg that is red and laid by the serpent that lives in the sea.
I come here to look for the cress that is green and the herb that is golden which grow in the valley,
And the branch of the oak that is stately, in the woods on the banks of the fountain.'"[5]