“All alone?”
“This is our place, and I know it all.”
She gravely led me toward the chateau when it appeared that I was minded to join Cernay.
“We mustn’t disturb papa. He doesn’t like any one to talk to him when he is there.”
“Very well, let us go.”
We installed ourselves upon the low cloister wall, Dilette with her legs swinging, I leaning against a pillar under the pendant sprays of the wild vines whose reddening leaves clambered over the arches.
“Now,” she said, “a story, quick!”
Rapidly I reviewed in mind my repertory of myths and legends, choosing from it a touching version by Tennyson of an ancient ballad. Do you know it perhaps? If not I must tell it to you too. Try to imitate Dilette and listen very quietly, for it is necessary to follow this story if you would understand what is to come in my book.
* * *
THE STORY