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could not see； in the tiniest of voices； had said something she
could not understand。
Madame Lavigne crossed herself and muttered a prayer； and then she
heard it again。 It seemed to come from close at her feet； and
feeling with her handsfor she thought it might be a stray catshe
found quite a large parcel； It was warm and soft； though； of course；
a bit wet； and Madame Lavigne brought it in； and having closed the
door and re…lit her candle； laid it on the table。 And then she saw
it was the tiniest of babies。
It must always be a difficult situation。 Madame Lavigne did what
most people would have done in the case。 She unrolled the
wrappings； and taking the little thing on her lap； sat down in front
of the dull peat fire and considered。 It seemed wonderfully
contented； and Madame Lavigne thought the best thing to do would be
to undress it and put it to bed； and then go on with her knitting。
She would consult Father Jean in the morning and take his advice。
She had never seen such fine clothes。 She took them off one by one；
lovingly feeling their texture； and when she finally removed the
last little shift and the little white thing lay exposed； Madame
Lavigne sprang up with a cry and all but dropped it into the fire。
For she saw by the mark that every Breton peasant knows that it was
not a child but a fairy。
Her proper course； as she well knew； was to have opened the door and
flung it out into the darkness。 Most women of the village would
have done so； and spent the rest of the night on their knees。 But
someone must have chosen with foresight。 There came to Madame
Lavigne the memory of her good man and her three tall sons； taken
from her one by one by the jealous sea； and； come what might of it；
she could not do it。 The little thing understood； that was clear；
for it smiled quite knowingly and stretched out its little hands；
touching Madame Lavigne's brown withered skin； and stirring
forgotten beatings of her heart。
Father Jeanone takes him to have been a tolerant； gently wise old
gentlemancould see no harm。 That is； if Madame Lavigne could
afford the luxury。 Maybe it was a good fairy。 Would bring her
luck。 And certain it is that the cackling of Madame's hens was
heard more often than before； and the weeds seemed fewer in the
little patch of garden that Madame Lavigne had rescued from the
moor。
Of course； the news spread。 One gathers that Madame Lavigne rather
gave herself airs。 But the neighbours shook their heads； and the
child grew up lonely and avoided。 Fortunately； the cottage was far
from other houses； and there was always the great moor with its deep
hiding…places。 Father Jean was her sole playmate。 He would take
her with him on his long tramps through his scattered district；
leaving her screened among the furze and bracken near to the
solitary farmsteads where he made his visitations。
He had learnt it was useless： all attempt of Mother Church to scold
out of this sea and moor…girt flock their pagan superstitions。 He
would leave it to time。 Later； perhaps opportunity might occur to
place the child in some convent； where she would learn to forget；
and grow into a good Catholic。 Meanwhile； one had to take pity on
the little lonely creature。 Not entirely for her own sake maybe； a
dear affectionate little soul strangely wise； so she seemed to
Father Jean。 Under the shade of trees or sharing warm shelter with
the soft…eyed cows； he would teach her from his small stock of
knowledge。 Every now and then she would startle him with an
intuition； a comment strangely unchildlike。 It was as if she had
known all about it； long ago。 Father Jean would steal a swift
glance at her from under his shaggy eyebrows and fall into a
silence。 It was curious also how the wild things of the field and
wood seemed unafraid of her。 At times； returning to where he had
left her hidden； he would pause； wondering to whom she was talking；
and then as he drew nearer would hear the stealing away of little
feet； the startled flutter of wings。 She had elfish ways； of which
it seemed impossible to cure her。 Often the good man； returning
from some late visit of mercy with his lantern and his stout oak
cudgel； would pause and listen to a wandering voice。 It was never
near enough for him to hear the words； and the voice was strange to
him； though he knew it could be no one else。 Madame Lavigne would
shrug her shoulders。 How could she help it？ It was not for her to
cross the 〃child；〃 even supposing bolts and bars likely to be of any
use。 Father Jean gave it up in despair。 Neither was it for him
either to be too often forbidding and lecturing。 Maybe the cunning
tender ways had wove their web about the childless old gentleman's
heart； making him also somewhat afraid。 Perhaps other distractions！
For Madame Lavigne would never allow her to do anything but the
lightest of work。 He would teach her to read。 So quickly she
learnt that it seemed to Father Jean she must be making believe not
to have known it already。 But he had his reward in watching the joy
with which she would devour； for preference； the quaint printed
volumes of romance and history that he would bring home to her from
his rare journeyings to the distant town。
It was when she was about thirteen that the ladies and gentlemen
came from Paris。 Of course they were not real ladies and gentlemen。
Only a little company of artists seeking new fields。 They had
〃done〃 the coast and the timbered houses of the narrow streets； and
one of them had suggested exploring the solitary； unknown inlands。
They came across her seated on an old grey stone reading from an
ancient…looking book； and she had risen and curtsied to them。 She
was never afraid。 It was she who excited fear。 Often she would
look after the children flying from her； feeling a little sad。 But；
of course； it could not be helped。 She was a fairy。 She would have
done them no harm； but this they could not be expected to
understand。 It was a delightful change； meeting human beings who
neither screamed nor hastily recited their paternosters； but who；
instead； returned one's smile。 They asked her where she lived； and
she showed them。 They were staying at Aven…a…Christ； and one of the
ladies was brave enough even to kiss her。 Laughing and talking they
all walked down the hill together。 They found Madame Lavigne
working in her garden。 Madame Lavigne washed her hands of all
responsibility。 It was for Suzanne to decide。 It seemed they
wanted to make a picture of her； sitting on the grey stone where
they had found her。 It was surely only kind to let them； so next
morning she was there again waiting for them。 They gave her a five…
franc piece。 Madame Lavigne was doubtful of handling it； but Father
Jean vouched for it as being good Republican money； and as the days
went by Madame Lavigne's black stocking grew heavier and heavier as
she hung it again each night in the chimney。
It was the lady who had first kissed her that discovered who she
was。 They had all of them felt sure from the beginning that she was
a fairy； and that 〃Suzanne〃 could not be her real name。 They found
it in the 〃Heptameron of Friar Bonnet。 In which is recorded the
numerous adventures of the valiant and puissant King Ryence of
Bretagne；〃 which one of them had picked up on the Quai aux Fleurs
and brought with him。 It told all about the White Ladies； and
therein she was described。 There could be no mistaking her； the
fair body that was like to a willow swayed by the wind。 The white
feet that could pass； leaving the dew unshaken from the grass。 The
eyes blue and deep as mountain lakes。 The golden locks of which the
sun was jealous。
It was all quite clear。 She was Malvina； once favourite to
Harbundia； Queen of the White Ladies of Brittany。 For reasons
further allusion to which politeness forbadeshe had been a
wanderer； no one knowing what had become of her。 And now the whim
had taken her to reappear as a little Breton peasant girl； near to
the scene of her past glories。 They knelt before her； offering her
homage； and all the ladies kissed her。 The gentlemen of the party
thought their turn would follow。 But it never did。 It was not
their own shyness that stood in their way： one must do them that
justice。 It was as if some youthful queen； exiled and unknown
amongst strangers； had been suddenly recognised by a little band of
her faithful subjects； passing by chance that way。 So that； instead
of frolic and laughter； as had been intended； they remained standing
with bared heads； and no one liked to be the first to speak。
She put them at their easeor tried towith a gracious gesture。
But enjoined upon them all her wish for secrecy。 And so dismissed
they seem to have returned to the village a marvellously sober
little party； experiencing all the sensations of honest folk
admitted to their first glimpse of high society。
They came again next yearat least a few of thembringing with
them a dress more worthy of Malvina's wearing。 It was as near as
Paris could achieve to the true and original costume as described by
the good Friar Bonnet； the which had been woven in a single night by
the