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milk-white steed with rose-coloured reins. They were on their way to the Hermitage to hear mass. Soldiers armed with lances formed their escort and, as they passed, the people crowded forward to admire them, and, indeed, all three were very fair to see. Under a veil of silver flowers and with flowing mantle the Duchess had an air of lovely majesty; while the pearls with which her coif was embroidered shone with a soft radiance that well-suited the face and soul of this beautiful lady. George by her side with flowing hair and sparkling eyes was very good to see. And on the other side rode Honey-Bee, the tender and pure colour of her face like a caress for the eyes; but most glorious of all her fair tresses, flowing over her shoulders, held by a circlet of gold surmounted by three gold flowers, seemed the shining mantle of her youth and beauty. The good people said, on seeing her:
    â€œWhat a lovely young damsel.”
    The master tailor, old Jean, took his grandson Peter in his arms to point out Honey-Bee to him, and Peter asked was she alive or was she an image of wax, for he could not understand how any one could be so white and so lovely, and yet belong to the same race as himself, little Peter with his good big weather-beaten cheeks, and his little home-spun shirt laced behind in country fashion.
    While the Duchess accepted the people’s homage with gracious kindness, the two children showed how it gratified their pride, George by his blushes, Honey-Bee by her smiles, and for this reason the Duchess said to them:
    â€œHow kindly these good people greet us. For what reason, George? And what is the reason, Honey-Bee?”
    â€œSo they should,” said Honey-Bee.
    â€œIt’s their duty,” George added.
    â€œBut why should it be their duty?” asked the Duchess.
    And as neither replied, she continued:
    â€œI will tell you. For more than three hundred years the dukes of Clarides, from father to son, have lance in hand protected these poor people so that they could gather the harvests of the fields they had sown. For more than three hundred years all the duchesses of Clarides have spun the cloth for the poor, have visited the sick, and have held the new-born at the baptismal font. That is the reason they greet you, my children.”
    George was lost in deep thought: “We must protect those who toil on the land,” and Honcy-Bee said: “One should spin for the poor.”
    And thus chatting and meditating they went on their way through meadows starred with flowers. A fringe of blue mountains lay against the distant horizon. George pointed towards the east.
    â€œIs that a great steel shield I see over there?”
    â€œOh no,” said Honey-Bee, “it’s a round silver clasp, as big as the moon.”
    â€œIt is neither a steel shield nor a silver clasp, my children,” replied the Duchess, “but a lake glittering in the sunshine. The surface of this lake, which seen from here is as smooth as a mirror, is stirred by innumerable ripples. Its borders which appear as distinct as it cut in metal are really covered by reeds with feathery plumes and irises whose flower is like a human glance between the blades of swords. Every morning a white mist rises over the lake which shines like armour under the midday sun. But none must approach it for in it dwell the nixies who lure passers by into their crystal abodes.”
    At this moment the bell of the Hermitage was heard.
    â€œLet us dismount,” said the Duchess, “and walk to the chapel. It was neither on elephants nor camels that the wise men of the East approached the manger.”
    They heard the hermit’s mass. A hideous old crone covered with rags knelt beside the Duchesss, who on leaving the church offered her holy water.
    â€œAccept it, good mother,” she said.
    George was amazed.
    â€œDo you not know,” said the Duchess, “that in the poor you honour the chosen of our Lord Jesus Christ? A