hirteen 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