and she gave a low laugh, half silly, half

malicious.

"I come from it," she said. " The beasts have lost their king. Noble, the lion, is dead; the animals are about to elect another king. If you go there perhaps they will make you king,"

" What are you saying, mother? " and the Count burst into shouts of laughter. " Do you know to whom you are talking? Do you not know that this gentleman is . . . (what the deuce do they call a professor in Jmoudic?) a great savant, a sage, a waïdelote?"^[1]

The witch stared at him fixedly.

"I was mistaken," she said. " It is thou who ought to go there. Thou wilt be their king, not he; thou art tall, and strong, and hast claws and teeth."

" What do you think of the epigrams she levels at us? " said the Count. " Can you show us the way, mother? " he asked.

She pointed with her hand to a part of the forest.

" Indeed? " said the Count. " And how can you get across the marsh? You must know, Professor, that she pointed to an impassable swamp, a lake of liquid mud covered over with green

1. ↑ A bad translation of the word "professor." The waïdelotes were the Lithuanian bards.