 CHAPTER 17 Which tells of the wonderful adventure of George of Blanche-Londe. King Locke did not laugh long—indeed, he hid the face of a very unhappy little man under the bed-clothes. He lay awake all night long, thinking of George of Blanche-Londe, prisoner of the Nixies. So, about the hour, when such of the dwarves as have a dairy-maid for sweetheart, go in her stead to milk the cows while she sleeps in her white bed with folded hands, little King Locke again sought the astute nur in the depths of his well. You did not tell me, Nur, what he is doing down there with the Nixies. The venerable Nur was quite convinced that the King was mad, though that did not alarm him because he knew if King Locke should lose his reason, he would be a most gracious, charming, amiable, and kindly lunatic. The madness of the dwarves is gentle like their reason and full of the most delicious fancies, but King Locke was not mad, at least not more so than lovers usually are. I wish to speak of George of Blanche-Londe, he said, to the venerable Nur, who had forgotten all about this young man as soon as possible. Thereupon Nur the wise placed a series of lenses and mirrors before the King in an order so exact that it looked like disorder, but which enabled him to show the King in a mirror the form of George of Blanche-Londe as he was when the Nixies carried him away. By a lucky choice in a skilful adjustment of instruments the dwarf was able to reproduce for the lovesick King all the adventures of the son of that Countess to whom a white rose announced her end, and the following expressed in words is what the little man saw in all the reality of form and colour. When George was born away in the icy arms of the daughters of the lake the water pressed upon his eyes and his breast and he felt that he was about to die, and yet he heard songs that sounded like a caress, and his whole being was permeated by a sense of delicious freshness. When he opened his eyes he saw himself in a grotto whose crystal columns reflected the delicate tints of the rainbow. At the end of the grotto was a great seashell of mother of pearl iridescent with the tenderest colours, and this served as a daze to the throne of coral and seaweed of the queen of the Nixies, but the face of the sovereign of the waters shone with a light more tender than either the mother of pearl or the crystal. She smiled at the child which her women brought her, and her green eyes lingered long upon him. Friend, she said at last, be welcome into our world in which you shall be spared all sorrow for you neither dry lessons nor rough sports. Nothing coarse shall remind you of earth and its toil for you only the songs and the dances and the love of the Nixies. And indeed the women of the green hair taught the child music and dancing and a thousand graces. They loved to bind his forehead with the cockleshells that decked their own trusses, but he, remembering his country, gnawed his clenched hands with impatience. Years passed, and George longed with a passion unceasing to see the earth again, the rude earth where the sun burns and where the snow hardens, the mother earth where one suffers, where one loves, the earth where he had seen honeybee, and where he longed to see her again. He had in the meantime grown to be a tall lad, with a fine golden down on his upper lip. Courage came with the beard, and so one day he presented himself before the Queen of the Nixies, and bowing low said, Madam, I have come with your gracious permission to take leave of you. I am about to return to Clarides. Fair youth, the Queen replied, smiling, I cannot grant you the leave you ask, for I guard you in my crystal palace, to make of you my lover. Madam, he replied, I am not worthy of so great an honour. That is but your courtesy, what gallant Cavalier ever believes that he has sufficiently deserved his lady's favour. Besides, you are still too young to know your own worth. Let me tell you, fair youth, that we do but desire your welfare. Obey your lady in her alone. Madam, I love Honeybee of Clarides. I will have no other lady but her. A mortal maid, the Queen cried, turning pale, but more beautiful still. Of course, daughter of men, this Honeybee, how can you love such a thing? I do not know, but I know that I love her. Never mind, it will pass. And she still held the young man captive by means of the allurements of her crystal abode. He did not comprehend the devious thing called a woman. He was more like Achilles among the daughters of lycomedes than Tannhouser in the enchanted castle. And that is why he wandered sadly along the walls of the mighty palace, searching for an outlet through which to escape. But he only saw the splendid and silent empire of the waves, sealing his shining prison. Through the transparent walls he watched the blooming sea anemones, and the spreading coral, while over the delicate streams of the maudre pores and the sparkling shells, purple, blue, and gold fishes, made a glitter of stars with a stroke of their tails. These marvels he left unheeded, for lulled by the delicious songs of the Nixies, he felt, little by little, his will broken, and his soul grow weak. He was all indolence and indifferent when one day he found by chance in a gallery of the palace, an ancient well-worn book bound in pigskin and studded with great copper nail-heads. The book saved from some rack in mid-ocean, treated of chivalry and fair ladies, and related at great length the adventures of heroes who went about the world redressing wrongs, protecting widows, and suckering orphans for the love of justice and in honour of beauty. George flushed and paled with wonder, shame, and anger, as he read these tales of splendid adventures. He could not contain himself. I also, he cried, will be a gallant night. I also will go about the world, punishing the wicked and suckering the unfortunate for the good of mankind, and in the name of my Lady Honeybee. With sword drawn and his heart big with valor, he dashed across the crystal dwellings. The white ladies fled and swooned before him, like the silver ripples of a lake. The Queen alone beheld his approach without a tremor. She turned on him the icy glance of her green eyes. Break the enchantment which binds me! he cried, running toward her. Open to me the road to earth. I wish to fight in the light of the sun like a cavalier. I wish to return to where one loves, to where one suffers, to where one struggles. Give back to me the life that is real and the light that is real. Give me back my prowess. If not, I will kill you, you wicked woman! With a smile she shook her head as if to refuse, beautiful she was, and serene, with all the strength that was in him George struck her, but his sword broke against her glittering breast. Child! she said, and she commanded that he be cast into a dungeon which formed a kind of crystal tunnel under her palace, and about which sharks roamed with white stretched monstrous jaws, armed with triple rows of pointed teeth. At every touch it seemed as if they must crush the frail glass wall, which made it impossible to sleep in the strange prison. The extremity of this undersea tunnel rested on a bed of rock which formed the vaulting of the most distant and unexplored cavern in the Empire of the Dwarves, and this is what the two little men saw in a single hour and quite as accurately as if they had followed George all the days of his life, the venerable nur having described the dungeon scene in all its tragic gloom addressed the King in much the same way as the Savoyards speak to the little children when they show their magic lanterns. King Locke! he said, I have shown you all you wish to see, and now that you know all I can add nothing more. It's nothing to me whether you liked what you saw. It is enough to know that what you saw was the truth. Science neither cares to please nor to displease. She is an human. It is not science but poetry that charms and consoles, and that is why poetry is more necessary than science. Go, King Locke, and get them to sing you a song. And without uttering a word, King Locke left the well. Chapter 18 In which King Locke undertakes a terrible journey. Having left the well of wisdom, King Locke went to his treasure-house and out of a casket of which he alone had the key, he took a ring which he placed on his finger. The stone set in the ring emitted a brilliant light, for it was a magic stone of whose power we shall learn more further on. Thereupon King Locke went to his palace, put on a travelling cloak and thick boots, and took a stick. Then he started on a journey across crowded streets, great highways, villages, galleries of porphyry, torrents of rock-oil and crystal grottoes, all of which communicated with each other through narrow openings. He seemed lost in deep meditation, and he uttered words that had no meaning. But he trudged on doggedly, mountains obstructed his path, and he climbed the mountains, precipices opened under his feet, and he descended into the precipices. He forded streams. He crossed horrible regions black with the fumes of sulfur. He trudged across burning lava, on which his feet left their imprint. He had the appearance of a desperately dogged traveller. He penetrated into gloomy caverns into which the water of the ocean oozed drop by drop, and flowed like tears along the sea-rack, forming pools on the uneven ground where countless crustaceans increased and multiplied into hideous shapes. Enormous crabs, crayfish, giant lobsters, and sea spiders crackled under the dwarf's feet, then crawled away, leaving some of their claws behind, and in their flight rousing horrible molluscs and octopuses centuries old that suddenly writhed their hundred arms and spat-feeted poison out of their bird-beaks, and yet King Locke went on undaunted. He made his way to the ends of these caverns through the midst of a heaped-up chaos of shelled monsters armed with spikes, with double-saw-edged nippers, with claws that crept stealthily up to his neck, and bleared eyes on swaying tentacles. He crept up the sides of the cavern by clinging to the rough surface of the rocks, and the mailed monsters crept with him, but he never faltered until he recognized by touch a stone that projected from the center of the natural arch. He touched the stone with his magic ring, and suddenly it rolled away with a horrible crash, and at once a glory of light flooded the cavern with its beautiful waves, and put to flight the swarming monster's bread in its gloom. As King Locke thrust his head into the opening through which daylight poured, he saw George of Blanchland in his glass dungeon where he was lamenting grievously as he thought of a honeybee and of earth, for King Locke had undertaken this subterranean journey only to deliver the captive of the Nixies. But seeing this huge disheveled head frowning and bearded watching him from under his tunnel, George believed himself to be menaced by a mighty danger, and he felt for the sword at his side forgetting that he had broken it against the breast of the woman with the green eyes. In the meantime, King Locke examined him curiously. Ah! said he to himself, it's only a child, and indeed he was only an ignorant child, and it was because of his great ignorance that he had escaped from the deadly and delicious kisses of the Queen of the Nixies, Aristotle with all his wisdom might not have done so well. What do you want, fathead? George cried, seeing himself defenceless. Why harm me if I have never harmed you? Little one, King Locke replied in a voice at once jovial and testy, you do not know whether or not you have harmed me, for you are ignorant of effects and causes and reflections and all philosophy in general. But we'll not talk of that. If you don't mind leaving your tunnel, come this way. George at once crept into the cavern, slipped down the length of the wall, and as soon as he had reached the bottom he said to his deliverer, You are a good little man, I shall love you for ever, but do you know where Honeyby of Clarides is? I know a great many things retorted the dwarf, and especially that I don't like people who ask questions. Hearing this, George paused in great confusion, and followed his guide in silence through the dense black air where the octopuses and crustaceans writhed. King Locke said mockingly, This is not a carriage-road, young prince. Sir, George replied, The road to liberty is always beautiful, and I fear not to be led astray when I follow my benefactor. Little King Locke bit his lips. On reaching the gallery of porphyry he pointed out to the youth a flight of steps cut in the rock by the dwarfs by which they ascend to earth. This is your way, he said. Farewell. Do not bid me farewell, George replied. Say, I shall see you again, after what you have done my life is yours. What I have done, King Locke replied, I have not done for your sake, but for another's. It will be better for us never to meet again, for we can never be friends. I would not have believed that my deliverance could have caused me such pain, George said simply and gravely, and yet it does. Farewell. A pleasant journey, cried King Locke in a gruff voice. Now it happened that these steps of the dwarfs adjoined a deserted stone quarry less than a mile from the castle of Clareades. This young lad, King Locke murmured as he went on his way, has neither the wisdom nor the wealth. Truly I cannot imagine why Honey Bee loves him, unless it is because he is young, handsome, faithful, and brave. As he went back to the town he laughed to himself, as a man does, who has done some one a good turn. As he passed Honey Bee's cottage he thrust his big head into the open window, just as he had thrust it into the crystal tunnel, and he saw the young girl, who was embroidering a veil with silver flowers. I wish you joy, Honey Bee, he cried. And you also, little King Locke, seeing you have nothing to wish for and nothing to regret. He had much to wish for, but indeed he had nothing to regret, and it was probably this which gave him such a good appetite for supper, having eaten a huge number of truffled pheasants he called Bob. Bob, said he, Mount Charavin, go to the Princess of the Dwarfs and tell her that George of Blanchland, long captive of the Nixies, has this day returned to Clareades. Thus he spoke, and Bob flew off on his raven. Chapter nineteen, which tells of the extraordinary encounter of Jean the Master-Taylor, and of the blessed song The Birds in the Grobe, sang to the Duchess. When George again found himself on the earth on which he was born, the very first person he met was Jean the Master-Taylor, with a red suit of clothes on his arm for the steward of the castle. The good man shrieked at sight of his young master, Holy Saint James, he cried, if you are not his lordship, George of Blanchland, who was drowned in the lake seven years ago, you are either his ghost or the devil in person. I am neither ghost nor devil good Jean, but I am truly that same George of Blanchland, who used to creep to your shop and beg bits of stuff, out of which to make dresses for the dolls of my sister Honeybee. Then you are not drowned, your lordship! The good man exclaimed, I am so glad! And how well you look! My little Peter, who climbed into my arms to see you pass on horseback by the side of the Duchess that Sunday morning, has become a good workman and a fine fellow. He is all of that, God, be praised, your lordship. He will be glad to hear that you are not at the bottom of the sea, and that the fish have not eaten you as he has always declared. He was in the habit of saying many pleasant things about your lordship, for he is very amusing, and it is a fact that you are much mourned in Clarides. You are such a promising child. I shall remember to my dying day how you once asked me for a needle to sew with, and as I refused, for you are not of an age to use it without danger. You replied you would go to the woods and pick beautiful green pine needles. That is what you said, and it still makes me laugh. Upon my soul you said that. Our little Peter also used to say clever things. Now he is a cooper, and at your service your lordship. I shall employ no one else, but give me news of Honey Bee, and the Duchess, Master Jean. How lack where do you come from your lordship, seeing that you do not know that it is now seven years since the Princess Honey Bee was stolen by the dwarfs of the mountain. She disappeared the very day you were drowned, and one can truly say that on that day Clarides lost its sweetest flowers. The Duchess is in deep mourning, and it's that which makes me say that the great of the earth have their sorrows, just as well as the humblest artisans, if only to prove that we are all the sons of Adam, and because of this a cat may well look at a king, as the saying is, and by the same token the good Duchess has seen her hair grow white and her gaiety vanish, and when in the springtime she walks in her black robes along the hedge-row where the birds sing, the smallest of these is more to be envied than the sovereign Lady of Clarides, and yet her grief is not quite without hope, your lordship, for though she had no tidings of you, she at least knows by dreams that her daughter Honey Bee is alive. This and much else, said good man Jean, but George listened no longer after he heard that Honey Bee was a captive among the dwarfs. The dwarfs hold Honey Bee captive under the earth. He pondered, a dwarf who rescued me from my crystal dungeon. These little men have not all the same customs. My deliverer cannot be of the same race as those who stole my sister. 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 veteran formed amongst them, having recognized the young lord of Blanchlon, 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 sulfur. 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 a far good day, as witness Van Kor the Squire, who came back from Rome, last mid-summer 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, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, George de Blancheland, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix. Francor approached her respectfully and said, Your grace, George de Blancheland, whom you thought dead, has returned. I shall make it into a song. In the meantime the birds sang, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Quix, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi, Estichi. And when she saw the child, who had been to her as a son, she opened her arms and fell senseless at his feet. CHAPTER 20 Which treats of a little satin shoe. Everybody in Clarides was quite convinced that Honeyby had been stolen by the Dwarves. 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 Francor. And we will bring her back to her mother, said George. And we will bring her back, replied Francor. And we will marry her, said George. And we will marry her, replied Francor. And they inquired among the inhabitants as to the habits of the Dwarves and the mysterious circumstances of Honeyby's disappearance. And so it happened that they questioned Nurse Morial, who had once been the nurse of the Duchess of Clarides, but now as she had no more milk for babies, Morial instead nursed the chickens in the poultry yard. It was there that the master in Squire found her. She cried, Pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss, as she threw grain to the chicks. Pss, pss, pss, pss, pss. Is it you, your Lordship? Pss, pss, pss, is it possible that you have grown so tall? Pss, and so handsome? Pss, pss, pss, pss. 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 to 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, Maria, but I must embrace you, because you nursed the mother of a 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. Now, Maureel, tell us all you know about the dwarves who carried away Honey Bee. Alas, my lord, I know nothing of the dwarves who carried her away! And how can you expect an old woman like me to know anything? It's ages ago since I forgot the little I ever knew, and I haven't even enough memory left to remember where I put my spectacles. Sometimes I look for them when they're on my nose. Try this drink, it's fresh. Here's to your health, Maureel, but I was told that your husband knew something about the disappearance of Honey Bee. That's true, your lordship, though he never was taught anything he learned a great deal in the pop-houses and the taverns, and he never forgot anything. Why, if he were alive now and sitting at this table, he could tell you stories until to-morrow. He used to tell me so many that they quite muddled my head, and even now I can't tell the tale of one from the head of the other. That's true, your lordship. Indeed it was true, for the head of the old nurse could only be compared to a cracked soup-pot. It was, with the greatest difficulty, that George and Francois got anything good out of it. Finally, however, by means of much repetition, they did extract a tale which began somewhat as follows. It's seven years ago, your lordship, the very day you and Honey Bee went on that frolic from which neither of you ever returned. My deceased husband went up the mountain to sell a horse. That's the truth. He fed the beast with a good peck of oats soaked in cider to give him a firm leg and a brilliant eye. He took him to market near the mountain. He had no cause to regret his oats or his cider, for he sold his horse for a much better price. Beasts are like human beings. One judges them by their appearance. My deceased husband was so rejoiced at his good stroke of business that he invited his friends to drink with him, and glass in hand he drank to their health. You must know, your lordship, that there wasn't man in all clare reads could equal my husband when glass in hand he drank to the health of his friends—so much so, that on that day, after a number of such compliments, when he returned alone at twilight, he took the wrong road, for the reason that he could not recognise the right one. Finding himself near a cabin, he saw, as distinctly as possible, considering his condition at the hour, a crowd of little men carrying a girl or a boy on a litter. He ran away for fear of ill luck, for the wine had not robbed him of prudence, but at some distance from the cavern he dropped his pipe, and on stooping to pick it up, he picked up instead a little satin shoe. When he was in a good humour he used to amuse himself by saying, It's the first time a pipe has changed into a shoe. And as it was the shoe of a little girl, he decided that she who had lost it in the forest was the one who had been carried away by the dwarves, and that it was theirs he had seen. He was about to put the shoe into his pocket, when a crowd of little men in hoods pounced down on him, and gave him such a thrashing that he lay there quite stunned. Maureel, Maureel, cried George, It's honey-bees shoe. Give it to me, and I will kiss it a thousand times. It shall rest for ever on my heart, and when I die shall be buried with me. As you please your lordship. But where will you find it? The dwarves took it away from my poor husband, and he always thought that they only gave him such a sound, a thrashing, because he wanted to put it in his pocket to show to the magistrates. He used to say, when he was in a good humour, Enough, enough, only tell me the name of the cavern. It is called the Cavern of the Dwarves, your lordship, and very well named too, my deceased husband. Not another word, Maureel, but you, Francois, do you know where this cavern is? Your lordship replied, Francois, as he emptied the pot of bear. You would certainly know it if you knew my songs better. I have written at least a dozen about this cavern, and I've described it without even forgetting a single sprig of moss. I ventured to say, your lordship, that of these dozen songs six are of great merit, and even the other six are not to be despised. I will sing you one or two. Francois cried George, we will take possession of this cavern of the dwarves and rescue Honeybee. Of course we will, replied Francois. Chapter 21 In which a perilous adventure is described. That night when all were asleep George and Francois crept into the lower hall in search of weapons, lances, swords, dirks, broads, swords, hunting knives, and daggers, glittered under the time-stained rafters, everything necessary to kill both men and brute. A complete suit of armour stood upright under each beam in an attitude as resolute and proud as if it were still filled with the soul of the brave man it had once decked for mighty adventures. The gauntlet grasped the lance in its ten iron fingers while the shield rested against the plates of the greaves as if to prove that prudence is necessary to courage and that the best fighter is armed as well for defence as for attack. From among all these suits of armour George chose the one that Honeybee's father had worn as far away as the isles of Avalon and Thule. He donned it with the aid of Francois, nor did he forget the shield on which was emblazoned the golden son of Clarides. As for Francois, he put on a good old steel coat of mail of his grandfathers, and on his head a casque of a bygone time, to which he attached a ragged and moth-eaten tuft or plume. This he chose merely as a matter of fancy, and to give himself an air of rejoicing for, as he justly reasoned, gaiety which is good under every circumstance, is especially so in the face of great dangers. Having thus armed themselves, they passed under the light of the moon into the dark open country. Francois had fastened the horses on the edge of a little grove near the post urn, and there he found them nibbling at the bark of the bushes. They were swift steeds, and it took them less than an hour to reach the mountain of the dwarfs through a crowd of goblins and phantoms. Here's the cave, said Francois. Master and man dismounted, and sword in hand penetrated into the cavern. It required great courage to attempt such an adventure, but George was in love, and Francois was faithful, and this was a case in which one could say, with the most delightful of poets, what may not friendship do with love or guide? Master and man had trudged through the gloom for nearly an hour when they were astonished to see a brilliant light. It was one of the meteors which we know illumines the kingdom of the dwarfs. By the light of this subterranean luminary they discovered that they were standing at the foot of an ancient castle. This, said George, is the castle we must capture. To be sure, said Francois, but first permit me to drink a few drops of this wine which I brought with me as a precaution, because the better the wine, the better the man, and the better the man, the better the lance, the better the lance, the less dangerous the enemy. George, seeing no living soul, struck the hilt of his sword sharply against the door of the castle. He looked up at the sound of a little tremulous voice, and he saw, at one of the windows, a little old man with a long beard, who asked, Who are you? George of Blanchland. And who do you want? I have come to deliver honeybee of clareeds, whom you want just the old captive in your mole-hill, hideous little moles that you are. The dwarf disappeared, and again George was left alone with Francois, who said to him, Your lordship, possibly I may exaggerate if I remark that in your answer to the dwarf you have not quite exhausted all the persuasive powers of eloquence. Francois was afraid of nothing, but he was old, his heart, like his head, was polished by age, and he disliked to offend people. As for George, he stormed and clamoured at the top of his voice, vile dwellers in the earth, moles, badgers, dormice ferrets, and water-rats, open the door and I'll cut off all your ears. Hardly had he uttered these words when the bronze door of the castle slowly opened of itself, for no one could be seen pushing back its enormous wings. George was seized with terror, and yet he sprang through the mysterious door, because his courage was even greater than his terror. Entering the courtyard, he saw that all the windows, the galleries, the roofs, the gables, the skylights, and even the chimney-pots, were crowded with dwarves, armed with bows and crossbows. He heard the bronze door close behind him, and suddenly a shower of arrows fell thick and fast on his head and shoulders, and for the second time he was filled with great fear, and for the second time he conquered his fear. Sword in hand, and his shield on his arm, he mounted the steps until suddenly he perceived, on the very highest, a majestic dwarf, who stood there in serene dignity, gold scepter in hand, and wearing the royal crown and the purple mantle, and in this dwarf he recognized the little man who had delivered him out of his crystal dungeon. Thereupon he threw himself at his feet, and cried, weeping, Oh, my benefactor, who are you? Are you one of those who have robbed me of Honeybee, whom I love? I am King Locke, replied the dwarf. I have kept Honeybee with me, to teach her the wisdom of the dwarves. Child, you have fallen into my kingdom like a hailstorm in a garden of flowers. But the dwarves, less weak than men, are never angered as are they. My intelligence raises me too high above you, for me to resent your actions, whatever they are, and of all the attributes that render me superior to you, that which I guard most jealously is justice. Honeybee shall be brought before me, and I will ask her if she wishes to follow you, this I do, not because you desire it, but because I must. A great silence ensued, and Honeybee appeared, attired, all in white, and with flowing golden hair. No sooner did she see George than she ran and threw herself in his arms, and clasped his iron breast with all her strength. Then King Locke said to her, Honeybee, is it true that this is the man you wish to marry? It is true, very true, that this is he, little King Locke, replied Honeybee, see, oh you little men, how I laugh and how happy I am! And she began to weep. Her tears fell on her lover's face, but they were tears of joy, and with them were mingled tiny bursts of laughter and a thousand endearing words without sense, like the lisp of a little child. She quite forgot that the sight of her joy might sadden the heart of King Locke. My beloved, said it George, I find you again such as I had longed for, the fairest and dearest of beings. You love me, thank heaven you love me, but Honeybee, do you not also love King Locke a little, who delivered me out of the glass dungeon in which the Nixies held me captive, far away from you? Honeybee turned to King Locke. Little King Locke, and did you do this? She cried, you loved me, and yet you rescued the one I love, and who loves me? Words failed her, and she fell on her knees, her head in her hands. All the little men who witnessed this scene, they loosed their crossbows with tears. Only King Locke remained serene, and Honeybee, overcome by his magnanimity, and his goodness, felt for him the love of a daughter for a father. She took her lover's hand. George, she said, I love you, God knows how much I love you. But how can I leave little King Locke? Hello there! King Locke cried in a terrible voice. Now you are my prisoners! But this terrible voice he only used for fun, and just as a joke, for he really was not at all angry. Here Francor approached, and knelt before him. Sire, he cried, may it please your majesty to let me share the captivity of the masters I serve? Said Honeybee, recognizing him. Is it you, my good Francor? How glad I am to see you again! What a horrid cap you've got on! Tell me, have you composed any new songs? And King Locke took them all three to dinner. Chapter twenty-two. In which all ends well. The next morning Honeybee, George, and Francor again arrayed themselves in the splendid garments prepared for them by the dwarves, and proceeded to the banquet hall, where, as he had promised, King Locke in the robes of an emperor soon joined them. He was followed by his officers fully armed, and covered with furs of barbarous magnificence, and in their helmets the wings of swans. Crowds of hurrying dwarves came in through the windows, the air-holes and the chimneys, and rolled under the benches. King Locke mounted a stone table, one end of which was laden with flagons, candelabra, tankards, and cups of gold of marvellous workmanship. He signed to Honeybee and to George to approach. Honeybee, he said, by a law of the nation of the dwarves, it is decreed that a stranger received in our midst shall be free after seven years. You have been with us seven years, Honeybee, and I should be a disloyal citizen, and to blame where the king should I keep you longer. But before permitting you to go, I wish, not having been able to wed you myself, to betroth you to the one you have chosen. I do so with joy, for I love you more than I love myself, and my pain, if such remains, is like a little cloud which your happiness will dispel. Honeybee of Clareades, princess of the dwarves, give me your hand, and you, George of Blanchland, give me yours. Placing the hand of George in the hand of Honeybee, he turned to his people and said with a ringing voice, Little men, my children, you bear witness that these two pledge themselves to marry one another on earth. They shall go back together, and together help courage, modesty, and fidelity to blossom as roses pinks and peonies bloom for good gardeners. At these words the dwarves burst into a mighty shout, but not knowing if they ought to grieve or to rejoice, they were torn by conflicting emotions. King Locke, again turning to the lovers, said, as he pointed to the flagons, the tankards, all the beautiful art of the goldsmith, Behold the gifts of the dwarves, make them Honeybee, they will remind you of your little friends. It is their gift to you, not mine, what I am about to give you, you shall know before long. A lengthy silence ensued. With an expression sublime in its tenderness, King Locke gazed at Honeybee, whose beautiful and radiant head, crowned by roses, rested on her lover's shoulder. Then he continued, My children, it is not enough to love passionately, you must also love well. A passionate love is good doubtless, but a beautiful love is better. May you have as much strength as gentleness, may it lack nothing, not even forbearance, and let even a little compassion be mingled with it. You are young, fair, and good, but you are human, and because of this capable of much suffering. If then something of compassion does not enter into the feelings you have, one for the other, these feelings will not always be fit, all the circumstances of your life together. They will be like festive robes, that will not shield you from wind and rain. We love truly only those we love, even in their weakness and their poverty. To forbear, to forgive, to console, that alone is the science of love. King Locke paused, seized by a gentle but strong emotion. My children, he then continued, May you be happy, guard your happiness well, guard it well. While he addressed them, pick, tad, dig, bob, true, and pow, clung to Honey Bee's white mantle, and covered her hands and arms with kisses, and they implored her not to leave them. Thereupon King Locke took from his girdle a ring set with a glittering gem. It was the magic ring which had enclosed the dungeon of the Nixies. He placed it on Honey Bee's finger. Honey Bee, he said, receive from my hand this ring which will promet you, you and your husband, to enter at any hour the kingdom of the dwarfs. You will be welcomed with joy and suckered at need. In return teach the children that will be yours, not to despise the little men, so innocent and industrious, who dwell under the earth. End of Section 7 End of Honey Bee by Anatole France, translated by Mrs. John Lane.