Then great wonders began to be marked in Normandy. Storms would rise without warning and sweep over the land as though heaven was wrath. And while the storms lasted, moans were heard in the air—low, wailing, gentle moans—like the sighs of angels. Then, too, from the deep caverns came loud clattering laughs—peal on peal—like mocking thunder.
Soon it became known that an heir would be born to the duke. Then might be seen stretching across the heavens a great flaming sword of fire, its edge ever trembling and surrounded by vaporous clouds.
At last, in a louder strain than any of that year—in the midst of shrieking winds such as had never before been heard by all who lived—the heir was born. Duke Richard was no longer childless!
Very beautiful was the child. But those who saw him, noticed that his features were like his father’s, that his skin was colorless, and that his eyes lacked the sparkling brightness of infancy.
The attention of the courtiers being fully roused, they began to observe that the father regained his old looks and ways. His color came back; his eyes again flashed brightly, the sound of his foot was again heard, and once more he laughed. And they said among themselves that the change they had marked was caused by anxiety, and that now his son was born to him, he was himself again.
Yet a few years, and there was more strange court news. The child was as no other child; he would tear birds to pieces, screaming with joy the while; and waking in the night,—he would creep from his bed, open the shutters of his windows to the wind, and remain there with these same winds tearing about his head till the day came—when he would slink away to his bed. He did not love the light, and when night time came, then only was it that his eyes sparkled.
Yet a little—and then it was known that he only was gentle when both his mother, and his foster-sister, Alice, were with him. Then he was as child-like as any other child, and would lisp his prayers quite readily. But Alice away, and his mother distant, again he became the strange weird creature he was whispered to be.
Then came the rumor a few years later, of an old white-haired man being found dead, a child’s jewelled dagger remaining in his breast.
Yet a few more years, and the whispers running through the court trickled out amongst the people, that the duke’s son was a demon!
Sad grew the father, sadder and sadder. But it was remarked that though his face grew grave and thoughtful, it was quite unlike the face he wore in that awful year before his son was born. And then it was whispered that if that time were referred to, the duke seemed lost, confused, and that then, and only then, something of that terrible look could be seen upon his countenance.