And they made a fire, and the milk boils.
‘Now,’ said the lady, ‘let him who milked the mares bathe in the milk.’
And the count said, ‘Tropsyn, go and bathe in the milk.’
He went to the horse. ‘What shall I do, horse? for if I bathe, then I shall die.’
The horse said, ‘Fear not, lead me to the caldron; I will snort through my nostrils, and breathe out frost.’
He led the horse; the horse snorted through his nostrils; then the milk became lukewarm. Then he leapt into the caldron, and fair as he was before, he came out fairer still. When he came out, the horse snorted through his nostrils, and breathed fire into the caldron, and the milk boiled again.
And the lady said to the count, ‘Go thou too and bathe in the milk, then will I live with thee.’
The count went to the caldron and said, ‘Tropsyn, bring me my horse.’
Tropsyn brought him his horse; the horse trembled from afar. The count leapt into the caldron; only bones were to be seen at the bottom of the caldron.
Then cried the lady, ‘Come hither, Tropsyn; thou art my lord, and I am thy lady.’