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He knew not what to think except that he must rescue Honey-Bee.

In the meantime they crossed the town, and on their way the gossips standing on the thresholds of their houses asked each other who was this young stranger, but they all agreed that he was very handsome. The better informed amongst them, having recognised the young lord of Blanchelande, decided that it must be his ghost, wherefore they fled, making great signs of the cross.

“He must be sprinkled with holy water,” said one old crone, “and he will vanish leaving a disgusting smell of sulphur. He will carry away Master Jean, and he will of course plunge him alive into the fire of hell.”

“Softly! old woman,” a citizen replied, “his lordship is alive and much more alive than you or I. He is as fresh as a rose, and he looks as if he had come from some noble court rather than from the other world. One does return from afar, good dame. As witness Francoeur the squire who came back from Rome last midsummer day.”

And Margaret the helmet-maker, having greatly admired George, mounted to her maiden chamber and kneeling before the image of the Holy Virgin prayed, “Holy Virgin, grant me a husband who shall look precisely like this young lord.”

So each in his way talked of George’s return until the news spread from mouth to mouth and finally reached the ears of the Duchess who was walking-in the orchard. Her heart beat violently and she heard all the birds in the hedge-row sing:

“Cui, cui, cui,
Oui, oui, oui,
Georges de Blanchelande,
Cui, cui, cui.
Dont vous avez nourri l’enfance
Cui, cui, cui,
Est ici, est ici, est ici!
Oui, oui, oui.”

Francoeur approached her respectfully and said: “Your Grace, George de Blanchelande whom you thought dead has returned. I shall make it into a song.” In the meantime the birds sang:

“Cucui, cui, cui, cui, cui,
Oui, oui, oui, oui, oui, oui,
Il est ici, ici, ici, ici, ici, ici.”

And when she saw the child who had been to her as a son, she opened her arms and fell senseless at his feet.

XX

Which treats of a little satin shoe

Everybody in Clarides was quite convinced that Honey-Bee had been stolen by the dwarfs. Even the Duchess believed it, though her dreams did not tell her precisely. “We will find her again,” said George. “We will find her again,” replied Francoeur. “And we will bring her back to her mother,” said George.

“And we will bring her back,” replied Francoeur. “And we will marry her,” said George.

“And we will marry her,” replied Francoeur. And they inquired among the inhabitants as to the habits of the dwarfs and the mysterious circumstances of Honey-Bee’s disappearance.

And so it happened that they questioned Nurse Maurille who had once been the nurse of the Duchess of Clarides; but now as she had no more milk for babies Maurille instead nursed the chickens in the poultry yard. It was there that the master and squire found her. She cried: “Psit! Psit! psit! psit! lil–lil–lil–lil–psit, psit, psit, psit!” as she threw grain to the chicks.

“Psit, psit, psit, psit! Is it you, your lordship? Psit, psit, psit! Is it possible that you have grown so tall–psit! and so handsome? Psit, psit! Shoo! shoo, shoo! Just look at that fat one there eating the little one’s portion! Shoo, shoo, shoo! The way of the world, your lordship. Riches go the rich, lean ones grow leaner, while the fat ones grow fatter. There’s no justice on earth! What can I do for you, my lord? May I offer you each a glass of beer?”

“We will accept it gladly, Maurille, and I must embrace you because you nursed the mother of her whom I love best on earth.”

“That’s true, my lord, my foster child cut her first tooth at the age of six months and fourteen days. On which occasion the deceased duchess made me a present. She did indeed.”