Sylvestre Ker asked,—
"Will you be my groomsman?" And Bihan replied,—
"Yes, yes; and I will give you a hundred crowns. And all that your mother may ask of me she shall have. But hasten, hasten, dear friend, or the waves will carry me off."
Sylvestre Ker's blood was pouring from the wound in his eye, and his sight was dimmed; but he was generous of heart, and boldly leaped from the top of the promontory. As he fell, his left leg was jammed against a jutting rock and broke, so there he was, lame as well as one-eyed; nevertheless, he dragged Bihan to the shore and asked,—
"When shall the wedding be?"
As Matheline hesitated in her answer—for Sylvestre's brave deeds were too recent to be forgotten—Pol Bihan came to her assistance and gayly cried,—
"You must wait, Sylvestre, my saviour, until your leg and eye are healed."
"Still longer," added Matheline (and now Sylvestre Ker saw the two new pearls, for in her laughter she opened her mouth from ear to ear); "still longer, as limping, one-eyed men are not to my taste—no, no!"
"But," cried Sylvestre Ker, "it is for your sakes that I am one-eyed and lame."