The witch stared at him fixedly.
"I was mistaken," she said. "It is thou who ought to go there. Thou wilt be their king, not he; thou art tall, and strong, and hast claws and teeth."
"What do you think of the epigrams she levels at us?" said the Count. "Can you show us the way, mother?" he asked.
She pointed with her hand to a part of the forest.
"Indeed?" said the Count. "And how can you get across the marsh? You must know, Professor, that she pointed to an impassable swamp, a lake of liquid mud covered over with green grass. Last year a stag that I wounded plunged into this infernal marsh, and I watched him sink slowly, slowly.... In five minutes I saw only his horns, and soon he disappeared completely, two of my dogs with him."
"But I am not heavy," said the old woman, chuckling.
"I think you could cross the marsh easily on a broomstick."
A flash of anger shone in the old woman's eyes.
"Sir," she said, returning to the drawling and nasal twang of the beggar, "haven't you a pipe of tobacco to give a poor woman? Thou hadst better search for a passage through the swamp than go to Dowghielly," she added in a lower tone.
"Dowghielly!" said the Count, reddening, "what do you mean?"