"The branch of the oak that is stately—in the woods—on the banks of the fountain?" repeated Jeannette, questioningly, looking above and around her, as though struck both by the words and the significant expression on Sybille's face. "It looks like this spot, god-mother, it looks like this spot!" But noticing that the old Breton woman did not listen to her and was seemingly lost in contemplation, she laid her hand upon her arm and said, insistently, "God-mother, who is that Merlin of whom you speak? Answer me, dear god-mother!"
"He was a Gallic bard whose chants are still sung in my country," answered Sybille, awaking from her revery; "he is spoken of in our oldest legends."
"Oh, god-mother, tell me one of them, if you please. I love so much to hear your beautiful legends. I often dream of them!"
"Very well, you shall be pleased, dear child. I shall tell you the legend of a peasant who wed the daughter of the King of Brittany."
"Is it possible! A peasant wed a king's daughter?"
"Yes, and thanks to Merlin's harp and ring."
CHAPTER IV.
THE HARP OF MERLIN.
Sybille seemed to be in a trance. "The legend," she said, "that I shall tell you is called The Harp of Merlin;" and she proceeded to recite in a rythmic cadence:
"'My poor grandmother, Oh, I wish to attend
The feast that the King doth give.'
'No, Alain, to this feast shall you not go:
Last night you wept in your dream.'
'Dear little mother, if truly you love me,
Let me this feast attend.'
'No, you will sing when you go;
When you come back you'll weep.'
But despite his grandmother, Alain did go."
"It was wrong in him to disobey," Jeannette could not help saying, while she listened with avidity to her god-mother's recital; "it was wrong in him to disobey!"