Approaching the hermit-laborer and the little girl, both of whom had kept their places as they gazed up at the sky, Ronan said to her in a merry voice:
"Will you dance, little Odille? The reel is started; it will last until dawn."
The young girl shook her head melancholically, made no answer, and continued to gaze at the sky.
"Odille, what is it you are dreaming about as you gaze at the moon? Whither do your thoughts fly, my child?"
"Sleep is overpowering me, and my thoughts are running over an old druid chant that my mother used to sing to me, to rock me asleep when I was little."
"What chant was that?"
"Oh! It is old, very, very old—my mother used to tell me. It has been sung in Gaul for over five or six hundred years."
"And what is its name?"
"The chant of Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen."
"The chant of Hena!" cried the Vagre and the hermit simultaneously with a tremor of delight.