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You have just acknowledged that you still love the laughing Matheline." "And that I hate her.... Yes, ... it is so.... But in eternity I wish to be with my dear mother, Josserande." "Were there no mothers," growled Satan, "I could play my game much better in the world!" And he added, "For the third time, ... adjudged!"
"What harm can the wolf do," asked Josserande, "to a well-mounted troop like the cavalry of Gildas the Wise? And, besides, cannot the holy abbot with a single word put to flight a hundred wolves?"
Josserande also knew that her beloved son sought after the fairy-stone, and even had mentioned it to Gildas the Wise, who shook his venerable head and said, "What God wills will be. Be careful that your son wears a mask over his face when he seeks the cursed thing; for what escapes from the crucible is Satan's breath, and the breath of Satan causes blindness."
In the midst of all this cheerfulness Josserande alone returned with a sad heart; for through the whole Mass she had in vain watched for her beloved son. She walked fifty paces behind the cavalcade of the monks of Ruiz, and dared not approach the Grand Abbot Gildas, for fear of being questioned about her boy.
Among the poor, who are the figures Of Jesus Christ. Day dawned. A man slept in the bed of Sylvestre Ker, where widow Josserande had laid a wolf. The room still bore the marks of a fire, and snow fell through the hole in the roof. The young tenant's face was disfigured with blows, and his hair, stiffened with blood, hung in heavy locks.
Around them the torch-bearers formed a circle: not to throw light upon the wolf and Dame Josserande, but to render homage to the white-haired beggar, in whom, as though the scales had suddenly fallen from their eyes, every one recognized the Grand Abbot of Ruiz, Gildas the Wise.
"Yes, yes, yes!" "He will go!" "He will not go!" "He will go, since he promised Dame Josserande." "He will not go, since Matheline told him to stay." "My friend, my friend, to-night Sylvestre Ker will find the golden secret." "To-night, my friend, my friend, he will win the heart of the one he loves."
Your god-daughter Matheline will accompany you; and I will follow with friend Sylvestre, for fear some accident might happen to him with his lame leg and sightless eye." As he proposed, so it was done; for Josserande suspected nothing, knowing that her son had promised, and that he would not break his word. As they were leaving, Pol whispered to Matheline,
They roasted the chestnuts in the ashes, heated the cider before the fire, adding to it fermented honey, wine, sprigs of rosemary, and marjoram leaves; and so delicious was the perfume of the beverage that even Dame Josserande longed for a taste. On the way thither, Pol had advised Matheline adroitly to question Sylvestre Ker, to know when he would at last find the fairy-stone.
"I will soon show how I hate the wretch!" Dame Josserande heard her, and sighed, "Girl, whom I blessed in baptism, may God keep me from cursing you now!" This Matheline, whose pearls were worth nothing, was no coward; for she carried out her words, and marched straight up to the wolf, while Bihan stayed behind and cried, "Go, go, my friends; don't be afraid!
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