ike
a falling tree. Morvan placed his foot on the dead man's breast,
withdrew his sword, and cut off the Moor's head. Then, attaching the
bleeding trophy to the pommel of his saddle, he rode home with it and
affixed it to the gate of his castle. All men praised him for his
doughty deed, but he gave the grace of his victory entirely to St
Anne, and declared that he would build a house of prayer in her honour
on the heights between Leguer and the Guindy.

_Morvan Fights the King_

One day Morvan sallied forth to encounter the King of the Franks
himself. The King brought no fewer than five thousand mounted
men-at-arms. As this host was about to set out, a great clap of
thunder resounded in the vault of heaven, and the King's nobles
perforce regarded it as a bad omen.

"For heaven's sake, sire, go not hence," said one of them, "since the
day has begun with such an evil token."

"Impossible," was the royal reply. "I have given the order; we must
march."

That morning, on the other hand, the sister of Morvan said to her
brother: "My dear brother, if you love me seek not this combat, for if
you do you will certainly go to your death, and what will become of me
afterward? I see on the shore the white sea-horse, the symbol of
Brittany. A monstrous serpent entwines him, seizing him round the hind
legs and the body with his enormous coils. The sea-steed turns his
head to seize the reptile. The combat is unequal. You are alone; the
Franks are legion!"

But Morvan was already beyond ear-shot.

* * * * *

As the hermit of the wood of Hellean[48] slept three knocks sounded on
his door.

"Good hermit," said some one, "open the door. I seek an asylum and
help from you."

The wind blew coldly from the country of the Franks. It was the hour
when savage beasts wander here and there in search of their prey. The
hermit did not rise with alacrity.

"Who are you who knock at my door at this hour of night demanding an
entrance?" he asked sulkily; "and by what sign shall I know whether
you are a true man or otherwise?"

"Priest, I am well known in this land. I am Morvan Lez-Breiz, the
Hatchet of Brittany."

"I will not open my door to you," said the hermit hastily. "You are a
rebel; you are the enemy of the good King of the Franks."

"How, priest!" cried Morvan angrily, "I am a Breton and no traitor or
rebel. It is the King of the Franks who has been a traitor to this
land."

"Silence, recr