“Come, my son,” she said, “there is no man so beautiful as the Archangel Michael.”
But little Morvan shook his head.
“Saving your grace, there are, my mother,” he said gravely. “There are many men more splendid than Saint Michael, and they are called knights. How I wish that I might grow up and become a knight too!”
At these words the poor lady, who had lost her husband in battle and who dreaded that her only son might be taken from her, was seized with such dismay that she sank to the ground unconscious. The little Morvan, without turning his head, entered the stables and led out a fresh horse. Jumping lightly on the steed’s back, he turned its head in the direction in which the splendid cavalier had gone and rode hastily after him.
The Return of Morvan
Ten years passed—years full of martial achievement and adventure for young Morvan. Then a desire to return to the ancestral mansion seized upon the youth, and he made his way homeward. But great was his dismay when he entered the courtyard of the manor and looked about him, for the blackberry bushes and the nettles were growing round the threshold of the house and the walls were half ruined and covered with ivy. As he was about to enter he observed a poor old blind woman standing in the entrance.
MORVAN RETURNS TO HIS RUINED HOME