"Fearful!" muttered the sabot-maker, more and more astonished, for he had never before seen the old woman in such a state of alarm. "What did he say, Catherine?"
"He spoke of things which awakened strange dreams."
"Dreams! You are mocking me."
"No, no," she answered. And then, after a moment of silence, fixing her eyes upon the wondering Hullin, she continued:
"Last evening, our people were seated, after supper, around the fire in the kitchen, and Yegof among them. He had, as usual, regaled us with the history of his treasures and castles. It was about nine o'clock, and the fool sat at the corner of the blazing hearth. Duchene, my laborer, was mending Bruno's saddle; Robin, the herdsman, was making a basket; Annette arranging her dishes on the cupboard; and I spinning before going to bed. Without, the dogs were barking at the moon, and it was bitter cold. We were speaking of the winter, which Duchene said would be severe, for he had seen large flocks of wild geese. The raven, perched on the corner of the chimney-piece, with his beak buried in his ruffled feathers, seemed to sleep."
The old woman paused a moment, as if to collect her thoughts; her eyes sought the floor, her lips closed tightly together, and a strange paleness overspread her face.
"What in the name of sense is she coming at?" thought Hullin.
She resumed:
"Yegof, at the edge of the hearth, with his tin crown upon his head and his sceptre laid across his knees, seemed absorbed in thought. He gazed at the huge black chimney, the great stone mantel-shelf, with its sculptured trees and men, and at the smoke which rose in heavy wreaths among the quarters of bacon. Suddenly he struck his sceptre upon the floor, and cried out like one in a dream, 'Yes, I have seen it all—all—long since!' And while we gazed on him with looks of astonishment, he proceeded: