That night when all were asleep George and Francoeur crept into the
lower hall in search of weapons. Lances, swords, dirks, broadswords,
hunting-knives and daggers glittered under the time-stained
rafters--everything necessary to kill both man 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
Honey-Bee’s father had worn as far away as the isles of Avalon and
Thule. He donned it with the aid of Francoeur, nor did he forget the
shield on which was emblazoned the golden sun of Clarides. As for
Francoeur, he put on a good old steel coat of mail of his grandfather’s
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. Francoeur had fastened the horses on
the edge of a little grove near the postern, 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 is the cave,” said Francoeur.
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 Francoeur 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 for 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 Francceur; “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 Blanchelande.”
“And who do you want?”
“I have come to deliver Honey-Bee of Clarides whom you unjustly hold
captive in your mole-hill, hideous little moles that you are!”
The dwarf disappeared and again George was left alone with Francoeur 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.”
Francoeur 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.”
But 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
dwarfs armed with bows and cross-bows.
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 a 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 sceptre in hand and wearing the royal
crown and the purple mantle. And in this dwarf he recognised the little
man who had delivered him out of his crystal dungeon.
Thereupon he threw himself at his feet and cried weeping:
“O my benefactor, who are you? Are you one of those who have robbed me
of Honey-Bee, whom I love?”
“I am King Loc,” replied the dwarf. “I have kept Honey-Bee with me
to teach her the wisdom of the dwarfs. Child, you have fallen into my
kingdom like a hail-storm in a garden of flowers. But the dwarfs, 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. Honey-Bee 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 Honey-Bee 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 Loc said to her:
“Honey-Bee, is it true that this is the man you wish to marry?”
“It is true, very true that this is he, little King Loc,” replied
Honey-Bee. “See, all 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 Loc.
“My beloved,” said 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, Honey-Bee, do you not also love King Loc a little, who
delivered me out of the glass dungeon in which the nixies held me
captive far away from you?”
Honey-Bee turned to King Loc.
“Little King Loc, 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 deluged their cross-bows
with tears. Only King Loc remained serene. And Honcy-Bee, 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 Loc?”
“Hallo, there?” King Loc 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 Francoeur 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 Honey-Bee, recognising him:
“Is it you, my good Francoeur? 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 Loc took them all three to dinner.