None of the peasants knew the age of the House of Kerival, or how long the Kerival family had been there. Old Yann Hénan, the blind brother of the white-haired curé, Père Alain, who was the oldest man in all the countryside, was wont to say that Kerival woods had been green before ever there was a house on the banks of the Seine, and that a Kerival had been lord of the land before ever there was a king of France. All believed this, except Père Alain, and even he dissented only when Yann spoke of the seigneur's ancestor as the Marquis of Kerival; for, as he explained, there were no marquises in those far-off days. But this went for nothing; for, unfortunately, Père Alain had once in his youth preached against the popular belief in Korrigans and Nains, and had said that these supernatural beings did not exist, or at any rate were never seen of man. How, then, could much credence be placed on the testimony of a man who could be so prejudiced? Yann had but to sing a familiar snatch from the old ballad of "Aotru Nann Hag ar Gorrigan"—the fragment beginning
Ken a gavas eur waz vihan
E-kichen ti eur Gorrigan,
and ending
Met gwell eo d'in mervel breman
'Get dimizi d' eur Gorrigan!—
[The Lord Nann came to the Kelpie's Pool
And stooped to drink the water cool;
But he saw the kelpie sitting by,
Combing her long locks listlessly.
"O knight," she sang, "thou dost not fear
To draw these perilous waters near!
Wed thou me now, or on a stone
For seven years perish all alone,
Or three days hence moan your death-moan!"
"I will not wed you, nor alone
Perish with torment on a stone,
Nor three days hence draw my death-moan—
For I shall die, O Kelpie fair,
When God lets down the golden stair,
And so my soul thou shalt not share—