“Is this true, Lady?” said the Fairy to Ermengarde. “But,” continued she, “I see it is, and will spare you the pain of answering.” She paused awhile, and then added, “Countess, I see a black spot on that child’s fair brow, that, unless we find a remedy, will spread and spread till it infects his whole nature. What his natural disposition may be I know not, but I see his father has inoculated him with one of the most dangerous of all maladies, a love of self. He is willing to seek for pleasure, even though it cost him separation from you. He already thinks of himself more than of you.”
“He is but a child, Lady,” said the mother apologetically.
“Aye, Countess Ermengarde, but the child is father to the man. Such as you make him now, such will he be hereafter.”
“Perhaps, Lady, if you spoke to Rudolf, he might be induced to see the matter as you do,” observed the wife.
“Nay, nay!” replied the Fairy, with an increase of sternness in her manner, “I am not one to be trifled with. You know even while you make it, that your suggestion is a hopeless one. To reason with your precious husband (of whom I know more than you think) is only to render him more obstinate. I must devise some other plan. Ah!” she continued, after a momentary pause, “I see my way clearly. The evil shall be made to work its own remedy. Go, tell the Count, that an ancient Fairy, a friend of your mother’s house, and who, on that account, desires to befriend you, has become acquainted with his wishes as respects his son: tell him that I have influence at Court, that King Katzekopf and the Queen are not likely to turn a deaf ear to any request I make them, and that he may hold himself in readiness to expect, ere long, a summons from his Majesty. Countess Ermengarde, tell him this; but I charge you at your peril, tell him no more than this. Meanwhile, keep up good heart, and trust me to befriend your boy. I will teach him one lesson, that shall be of more use to him than all his father’s.”
So saying, she smiled graciously on little Witikind, patted him on the head, and springing on her cockatrice was soon out of sight.
CHAPTER IV.
A hashed Heir.
“Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,