The Queen of the Fées was now to all seeming a mortal woman, and so far from regretting that she had laid aside her rank, each day found her more content in her husband’s love, and by every womanly art she knew she sought to please him. One favour only she asked of him—that never in her hearing would he mention the word ‘Death.’
‘If you do, you will lose me for ever,’ she told him fearfully, and he vowed by all that he held most sacred that this dread word should not cross his lips.
The years went on. The lovely Lady of the Woods bore him fair daughters and gallant sons, and all was well with the Lord of Argouges. But one thing grieved him; since the Fées’ sweet Queen had linked her lot with his, she too was subject to the laws of Time, and her beauty waned with increasing age. The gold of her hair was streaked with silver, and her face lost some of its soft pink bloom. Her lord spake no word of what was in his mind as he looked at her earnestly one bright spring morn, but she divined his regretful thoughts, and full sorrowful were her own.
The Fées could not help her, since she had left her fairy kindred to throw in her lot with mortal man, and so, with woman’s wit, she determined that at the forthcoming festival at the Court the splendour of her attire should make her lord forget Time’s changes. She therefore summoned to the castle the most skilful workers in silks and broideries, who toiled in her service day and night, that she might be richly adorned at the Royal Tournament.
Her gown was of azure satin, encrusted with many gems, and her long court train glittered and shone with gold and silver. Diamonds blazed at her breast and neck, while a circlet of rubies glowed in her hair. But their rich red lustre made her pale sweet face look paler than ever, and she still gazed wistfully at her glass though the Lord of Argouges waited below, wondering what delayed her. At length he sought her himself, and in spite of his impatience, he could but admire her resplendent attire.
‘You have robbed the sky of his morning glories!’ he told her gallantly. Then, as she lingered still, his impatience returned: ‘Fair spouse,’ he said, ‘it were well if Death should send you as his messenger, for you tarry long when you are bidden to haste!—Forgive me, Sweet! I should not have said that word!’
His remorse came too late, for the ominous sound had scarcely crossed his lips when with a cry of bitter anguish, his lady became once more a Fée, and vanished from his sight. Long and vainly did he seek her, for though her footmarks are still to be seen on the battlements of the Castle, and night after night she wandered round it clad in a misty robe of white, they two met on earth no more. She is pictured still in the crest of the house of Argouges, over its motto, ‘A la Fe!’”
I liked this story, but I wished that it had not ended quite so sadly. When I said so to Méllisande she turned her face away from me, and I think it was a tear drop that glittered on her hand.
“Then I will tell you neither of Pressina nor Melusina,” she said, “for both these Fées lived to rue the day when they put faith in the word of man. It was different with the fair Norina. She demanded no pledge, for doubt and distrust came not nigh her path, and her love brought her only gladness.”
The shadows lengthened; the wood dove flew off to rejoin her mate; and Méllisande’s lips began to smile as she thought of another story.