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