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Before evening Finette was seated by the side of Yvon, both weeping and smiling. And what became of the fair-haired lady? No one knows.
For his only answer, he took a roll of parchment from his pocket, wrote on it a contract of marriage, and declared to Finette that, should he stay all night, he would not leave the house till she had signed the promise.
"Of what, my dear child?" asked the bailiff, smiling, and already as proud as a peacock. "Do you think," said she, with a pettish air, "that a good husband would leave that door wide open and not know that his wife was freezing with cold?" "You are right, my dear," said the bailiff; "it was very stupid in me. I will go and shut it." "Have you hold of the knob?" asked Finette.
Never had he tried such a waltz, and I imagine that he never wished to dance a second one of the same sort. Sometimes the door swung open with him in the street; sometimes it flew back and crushed him against the wall. He swung backward and forward, screaming, swearing, weeping, and praying, but all in vain; the door was deaf, and Finette asleep.
"My lord," said Finette, "I don't know how to write." "Do you think that I do, either?" returned the seneschal, in a voice that shook the house. "Do you take me for a clerk? A cross that is the signature of gentlemen." He made a large cross on the paper, and handed the pen to Finette. "Sign," said he.
Only persuade her to lend you her tongs, and, in my opinion, they will hold till morning." The baron made a sign, and ten peasants ran to the cottage of Finette, who very obligingly lent them her gold tongs. They were put in the place of the trace; the coachman cracked his whip, and off went the carriage like a feather. Every one rejoiced, but the joy did not last long.
Twenty days after their departure the boat landed Yvon and Finette near Kerver Castle. Once on shore, Yvon turned to thank the crew. No one was there. Both boat and ship had vanished under the waves, leaving no trace behind but a gull on the wing. Yvon recognized the spot where he had so often gathered shells and chased the crabs to their holes when a child.
At evening, when Finette returned home in despair, instead of the steward she found another visitor little less formidable. The bailiff had heard the story of the guineas and had also made up his mind to marry the stranger.
"Finette," howled he, "why isn't the table set?" There was no answer. The giant, furious, sprang out of bed, seized a ladle, which looked like a caldron with a pitchfork for a handle, and plunged it into the pot to taste the soup. "Finette!" howled he, "you haven't salted it. What sort of soup is this? I see neither meat nor vegetables."
This was a great piece of good fortune for him, for he was covered with whitewash from head to foot, and so pale, haggard, and trembling that he might have been taken for the ghost of a miller escaped from the infernal regions. When Finette opened her eyes she saw by her bedside a tall man dressed in black, with a velvet cap and a sword. It was the seneschal of the barony of Kerver.
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