MOTHER AND SON.
At noon of the day following the exciting night in which the fugitives
left the abbey, they halted for rest after having been uninterruptedly
on the march from the time that they disembarked at the other shore of
the abbey's pond. Thanks to the precaution of the apprentices, one of
whom had brought provisions and another a pouch of wine, their strength
was speedily restored. The travelers had sat down upon the grass under a
wide-spreading oak whose foliage was yellowed by the late season. At
their feet flowed a stream of limpid water, behind them rose a hill that
they had just traveled over, following the track of an old Roman road
that had fallen into decay. The road continued for a long distance until
the turning of a wooded headland behind which it disappeared. Far away
in the distant horizon stood outlined the dark blue mountain-tops that
form the boundaries and frontier of Brittany. Guided by one of the
apprentices who was familiar with the surroundings of the abbey, the
fugitives had struck the old Roman road. It led to Nantes, at the
boundary line of Armorica, and in the neighborhood of which, seven
centuries earlier, Julius Caesar established several entrenched camps in
order to protect his military colonies. Accustomed through his
profession of war to measure distances, Amael calculated that by
marching until sunset, resting an hour, and then resuming their tramp,
it would be possible to reach Brittany at the end of the next day.
Septimine sat near Rosen-Aer and Amael, and the apprentices, spread out
upon the grass, had just finished their frugal meal. The old goldsmith
having also repaired his forces, pulled out of the pocket of his blouse
a little packet that was carefully wrapped up in a piece of smooth skin.
The young folks followed the old man's movements with curiosity, and to
their great surprise they saw him take from its wrapping the little
abbatial crosier of silver, at which he had for some time been
chiseling. There were also two burins in the package. Noticing the look
of astonishment on the faces of the apprentices, he said to them:
"You seem surprised, my children, to see that I carried this jewel from
the abbey. It is not the value of the metal that tempted me."
"I believe that, Master Bonaik; the little crosier has but little silver
in it. But we still wonder why you brought it along."
"Well, my boys, I love my trade.... I shall have no further
opportunities to exercise it during the remaining days of my life.... I
preserved my two best burins.... I mean to chisel this crosier so nicely
that by working upon it a little every day I shall consume the rest of
my life at it. It will be the masterpiece of my long career."
"You congratulated us upon our foresight, Master Bonaik, because we
thought of the pouch of wine and the provisions. But we must admit that
your foresight exceeds ours."
"Good father, and you, my friends," said Amael, addressing himself to
the goldsmith and his apprentices, "please draw near; I wish you to hear
what I have to say to my mother. I have committed a wrong, I should now
have courage to make a public confession ... and beseech forgiveness."
Rosen-Aer sighed and listened with sad and severe curiosity to her son's
account of his conduct and career since she saw him as a boy. Looking at
her with a surprised face Septimine seemed to beseech the indulgence of
the mother, of this Gallic mother who felt so justly and so painfully
mortified at her son.
"From the moment that all peril to me was over," Amael began, "my mother
has not spoken to me during this long journey, either by day or night;
she has refused the support of my arm, preferring that of this poor
girl, who saved her life. My mother's severity is just, I cannot
complain of it, though it pains me.... May the truthful account of my
faults, the confession of my errors, and my sincere repentance merit her
pardon."
"A mother always forgives," said Septimine timidly, looking at
Rosen-Aer, but the latter answered in a tremulous and grave voice,
without deigning to look at Amael:
"My son's abandonment has torn my heart; a prey to unceasing and ever
renewing anxieties on his behalf, I gave myself up alternately to
despair and to insane hope.... These torments have lasted long years. I
can pardon my son for having caused them; but what is not in my power to
pardon is his criminal alliance with the oppressors of our race, with
those accursed Franks, who enslaved our fathers, outraged our mothers,
and who continue to hold our children in bondage!"
"My crime is great. But I swear to you, mother, that long before I saw
you again remorse gnawed at my heart. It is ten years since I left the
valley of Charolles, where I lived happily with my family. But I yielded
to curiosity, to an overpowering thirst for adventure. I believed that
beyond our own confines I was to see an entirely new world. One evening
I left, but not without shedding many a tear, not without turning more
than once to take a parting look at our valley."
"In my youth," said the old man, "my father often told me how Karadeucq,
one of our ancestors, also left his family to run what then was called
the 'Bagaudy'--to tramp free through the woods and lie in ambush for
our oppressors. May, Rosen-Aer, the remembrance of our ancestor soften
your heart towards your son."
"The Bagauders and the Vagres warred against the Romans and then against
the Franks; they did not ally themselves with our oppressors, and fight
on their side, as my son has done."
"Your reproaches are merited, mother! You will see in the course of my
account that I often made them to myself. Almost immediately upon
quitting the valley I fell into the hands of a band of Franks. They were
on their way back from Auvergne and were traveling north. They made me a
slave. Their chief kept me for a time to oversee and tend his horse, and
to furbish his weapons. I had the instinct of war. The sight of arms or
of a fine horse always fascinated me since childhood. You know it,
mother."
"Yes, your holidays were those on which the colonists of the valley
exercised themselves in arms ... or ran races on horseback."
"Led a slave by that Frankish chief, I never sought to flee. He treated
me kindly. Besides, it was to me a pleasure to polish armors and to ride
on the march. At least, and at last, I was seeing a new country....
Alas, quite new! The fields were ravaged, the harvest was neglected, the
frightful distress of the subjugated populations of the districts that
we traversed contrasted cruelly with the independent and happy life of
the inhabitants of our valley. It was on such occasions that, thinking
of our happy region, of you, and of my father, tears dropped from my
eyes, and my heart felt like breaking. Occasionally, the thought came to
me of running away from the Franks and returning to you. But the fear of
a severe reprimand held me back."
"I would have felt the same way, had I committed the same fault," said
Septimine, who listened to Amael's report with tender interest. "I
never would have dared to return to my family."
"After being more than a year with the Frankish chief, I had become a
good groom, and I could master the most spirited horses. By cleaning the
weapons I had learned to handle them. The Frank died. I was to be sold
with all his other slaves. A Jew named Mordecai, who traveled over Gaul
as a trafficker in slaves, happened to be in Amiens at the time; he
inspected my deceased master's slaves. He bought me and told me in
advance that he was to sell me to a rich Frankish seigneur named
Bodegesil, Duke of the country of Poitiers. The seigneur, said the Jew,
owned the finest horses and the finest armors imaginable. 'If you flee'
said the Jew to me, 'I would lose a fat sum of money, because I bought
you for a large amount, knowing I could dispose of you to the seigneur
Bodegesil at a good profit. If you run away you will lose a chance of
making your fortune. Bodegesil is a generous seigneur. Serve him
faithfully and he will take you to war with him whenever he is called to
take the field with his men, and we have seen in these days of war more
than one manumitted slave become a count.' The Jew's words fired my
ambition, pride intoxicated me, I believed what he said, and did not try
to run away. He himself, in order to confirm my purpose, treated me at
his best; he even promised me to have a letter that I wrote to you reach
you through another Jew who was to go to Burgundy."
"The man did not keep his promise," said Rosen-Aer. "No tidings from you
ever reached me."
"I am not surprised at his breach of promise. That Jew was greedy and
faithless. He took me to Duke Bodegesil. That Frank did indeed raise
superb horses on the immense meadows of his domain, and one of the halls
of his burg, an ancient Roman castle, was fitted out with splendid
armors. But the Jew had lied to me on the duke's character. He was a
violent, cruel man. Still, struck almost immediately after my arrival at
the manner in which I broke in a savage colt that had until then been
the terror of the stable slaves, he treated me with less severity than
he did my Gallic or Frankish companions, because, you know, mother,
that, thanks to the ups and downs of the times, a large number of the
descendants of the conquerors of the Gauls have fallen into poverty, and
from poverty into slavery. Bodegesil was as cruel towards his slaves of
his own German extraction as towards those of the Gallic race. Always on
horseback, always busy furbishing and handling weapons, I now steadily
pursued an idea that was destined to be realized. The renown of Charles,
the steward of the palace, had reached my ears; I had heard some of the
Frankish friends of Bodegesil say that Charles, being compelled to
defend Gaul in the north against the Frisians and in the south against
the Arabs, and finding himself ill-supported by the old lay and clerical
seigneurs, who furnished him little money and only small forces, gave a
friendly reception to adventurers, several of whom by bravely fighting
under his orders, had arrived at unexpected wealth. I was twenty years
old when I learned that Charles was approaching Poitiers for the purpose
of driving back the Arabians, who then threatened to invade the region.
The moment, long dreamed of by my ambition, had arrived. One day I took
the handsomest suit of armor from Bodegesil's racks, I sequestered a
sword, a battle-axe, a lance and a buckler. When night fell I picked out
of the stable the finest and most spirited horse. I put on the armor,
and rode rapidly away from the castle. I wished to join Charles and
decided to conceal my extraction and pass for the son of a Frankish
seigneur so as to interest Charles in my fortunes. About five or six
leagues from the castle, I was attacked early the next morning by
bandits who infested the roads. I defended myself vigorously. I killed
two of the robbers and said to the others: Charles needs brave men. He
leaves a large part of the booty to them. Come with me. It is better to
fight in an army than to attack travelers on the road. The danger is the
same, but the profit is larger! The bandits took my advice and followed
me. Our little troop was increased on the route by other idle but
determined men. We arrived at the camp of Charles on the eve of the
battle of Poitiers. I claimed to be the son of a noble Frank who died
poor and left me his horse and arms as only inheritance. Charles
received me with his habitual roughness. 'There will be a fight
to-morrow,' he answered me, 'if you and your men behave well you will be
pleased with me.' Accident willed it that at that battle against the
Arabs I saved the life of the Frankish chief by helping him to defend
himself against a group of Berbery riders who attacked him furiously. I
was wounded in several places. That day secured the affection of Charles
to me. I shall not tell you, mother, of the many proofs of favor that he
gave me. My great fortune was ever poisoned by the thought ever present
in my mind: 'I have lied; I have denied my race; I have allied myself to
the oppressors of Gaul; I have given them the aid of my sword in
repelling the Saxons and Arabs, who are neither more nor less barbarous
than our accursed Frankish conquerors.' More than once, during the
incessant struggles between the seigneurs of Austrasia and those of
Neustria or Aquitaine--impious wars in which the counts, the dukes, and
the bishops drafted their Gallic colonists as soldiers--I fought against
the men of my own race.... I reddened my sword with their blood. These
are crimes."
"Oh, shame and sorrow," murmured Rosen-Aer, covering her face with her
hands, "to be the mother of such a son!"
"Yes, shame and sorrow ... not for you only, but also for me. Alack! I
yielded to the consequence of a first false step; I fought the men of my
race, out of fear to be taken for a coward by Charles, out of fear to
betray my extraction. Pride intoxicated me when I saw myself admiringly
surrounded by the proudest of our conquerors--I, the son of that
conquered and subjugated people. But after such moments of vertigo were
over, I often envied the fate of the most miserable slave. They at least
were entitled to the respect that undeserved misfortune inspires. Vainly
did I look for death in battle. I was condemned to live. Only in the
intoxication of battle, in perilous undertakings did I find temporary
relief from the remorse that haunted me. Oh, how often did I not think
with sorrow of our valley of Charolles, where my family lived! When I
afterward learned of the ravages of the region by the Arabs, of the
desperate resistance that its inhabitants had offered ... my relatives,
my friends; when I thought that my sword might have defended you, or at
least avenged you, mother, from that time forward remorse embittered my
life. I never since had one instant of happiness."
"Your father fought up to his last breath for freedom and for the
freedom of his kin. I saw him fall at my feet riddled with wounds! Where
were you when your father was defending his hearth, his freedom and his
family?... Near the Frankish chief, fawning for his favor! Perchance
even fighting your own brothers!"
Amael covered his face with his hands and answered only with a smothered
sob.
"Oh, for pity's sake, do not overwhelm him!" said Septimine to
Rosen-Aer. "See how wretched he feels ... how contrite he is!"
"Rosen-Aer," added the old man, "remember that yesterday your son was
still the favorite of the sovereign chief of Gaul, and that to-day he
renounces the favors that intoxicated him. He is no less wretched than
we, and has no other wish than to live a poor and hard but free life in
the old Armorica that is the cradle of our family."
"By Hesus!" cried Rosen-Aer. "Did my son voluntarily renounce those
goods, those lands, those favors, the accursed gifts of Charles? Did you
not extract him from a prison, where, without you, he would have
perished? Oh! The gods are just. My son owed his fortune to an impious
ambition ... and the fortune came near being fatal to him. Glorified and
enriched by the Franks, he has been shamefully punished and stripped of
all by a woman of their race."
"Oh!" cried Septimine, breaking down in tears, "do you believe that
Amael, even if in full possession, would not have renounced all to
follow you, his mother?"
"The man who falls away from his duty to his country and his race can
also fall away from his duty to his mother! I am justified to question
the goodness of my son's heart!"
"Master Bonaik," suddenly cried one of the apprentices in an accent of
fear, "look down below there, at the turning of the road ... there are
soldiers. They are approaching rapidly. They will be here within short!"
At these words of the lad the fugitives jumped to their feet. Amael
himself, forgetting for a moment the sorrow into which his mother's just
severity plunged him, dried his face that was moist with tears and took
a few steps forward to reconnoiter.
"Great God!" cried Septimine. "They may be in pursuit of Amael.... Good
father Bonaik, let us hide in this thicket----"
"My child, that would be to expose ourselves to being pursued. The
riders have seen us.... Our flight would awaken their suspicion.
Besides, they come from the side opposite to Nantes; they cannot have
been sent in our pursuit."
"Master Bonaik," said one of the apprentices, "three of the riders are
hastening their horses' steps, and motion us with their hands to come to
them."
"Perhaps a new danger now threatens us!" said Septimine, drawing close
to Rosen-Aer, who had alone remained seated, and seemed indifferent to
what went on around her. "Alack, what is to become of us!"
"Oh, poor child!" said Rosen-Aer, "I care little for life at this
moment!... And yet the mere hope of some day finding again my son,
served to sustain my sad life!"
"But you have found again that son whose loss you so tenderly regretted.
He is here, near you!"
"No!" answered the Gallic mother with sorrow, "no, that is not my son!"
Feeling not a little uneasy, Amael had walked toward the three Frankish
horsemen, who rode at the head of a more numerous troop. One of them
reined in his steed, and said to Rosen-Aer's son: "Does this road lead
to Nantes?"
"Yes; it is the nearest road."
"Does it also lead to the abbey of Meriadek?"
"Yes," answered Amael, as much surprised at the meeting as at the
questions.
"Arnulf," said the rider to one of his companions, "ride back and tell
Count Bertchram that we are on the right road; while waiting for your
return to us, I shall let my horse drink at this stream."
The rider departed, and while his two companions were allowing their
horses to take a few throatfuls of water, Amael, who had not been able
to overcome the growing curiosity that seized him at hearing the name of
Count Bertchram, asked the two riders: "What brings Count Bertchram to
this country?"
"He comes as a messenger of Charles, the chief of the Franks. Tell us,
young man, whether we still have a long way to ride before we reach the
abbey of Meriadek."
"You could not reach the place until late to-night."
"Is that abbey as rich as they claim?"
"It is rich.... But why do you ask?"
"Why?" said the soldier with a merry smile, "because Bertchram and we
are to take possession of the abbey, which the good Charles has bestowed
upon us."
"But I heard it said that Charles had bestowed the monastery and all its
dependencies upon one Berthoald."
During this conversation the other riders had joined their vanguard,
followed by several carts drawn by mules and a few horses led by the
bridle. The carts were loaded with baggage. Bertchram rode at the head
of the main body. He was an elderly warrior of rude and stupid
physiognomy. Amael took a few steps toward the count. The latter
suddenly stopped his horse, dropped the reins, and rubbed his eyes as if
he could not believe the evidence of their sense. He contemplated the
son of Rosen-Aer for a few seconds in utter amazement, and then cried:
"Berthoald! Count Berthoald!"
"Yes, it is I.... Good-day to you, Bertchram!"
Bertchram alighted from his horse and ran toward the young man to
contemplate him closer. "It is he ... and no mistake! And what are you
doing here, valiant count, in the company of these beggars?"
"Speak not so loud. I am on a mission from Charles."
"Bareheaded in that way? Without arms, your clothes soiled with mud and
almost in rags?"
"It is a disguise that I have assumed."
"You are a wily customer! Whenever the good Charles had some delicate
matter in hand, it was always you he charged with it, because you are
more subtle than any of us others. Charles always said to me:
'Bertchram, you would be a terrible man if your brain were as powerful
as your fist!' You probably do not know that I am the bearer of a
message to you?"
"What is the message about?"
"Simply this, that I come to replace you as abbot at the abbey of
Meriadek."
"Charles is master, he can give and take back again."
"Do not look upon the substitution as a disgrace, Berthoald! Far from
it! Charles raises you to the rank of duke, and he reserves for you the
command of his vanguard in the war he is about to undertake against the
Frisians. 'Upon the word of the Hammerer,' he said to us, 'I was a fool
in confining to an abbey one of my youngest captains, and at this season
when wars break out so unexpectedly; it is now, when I have not
Berthoald at my side, that I feel how much I need him. The post I gave
him is good for an aged soldier; it fits you better than him, old
Bertchram, go and take the place of Berthoald and his men; you shall
give him this letter from me, and as a pledge of my constant friendship,
take to him two of my best horses; besides that, take to him from me a
magnificent armor of Bordeaux. He loves fine armor and fine horses. It
will please him.' And there they are with me," added Bertchram. "The
horses are led by the bridle. They are beautiful, one is as black as a
raven, the other white as a swan. As to the armor, it is carefully
packed up in my baggage, I cannot show it to you now. It is a
masterpiece of the most famous armorer of Bordeaux. It is enriched with
gold and silver ornaments. The casque is a marvel."
"I am truly touched with this fresh proof of Charles' affection,"
answered Amael, "I shall report to him as soon as I have fulfilled his
mission."
"But he wishes you to join him immediately, as you will see by the
letter that I have carefully put away in my cuirass," said the warrior
hunting for the parchment.
"Charles will not regret to see me arrive a day or two later if I return
to him after successfully attending to the mission that he confided to
me. I shall find the horses and the armor at the abbey, where I shall
see you again, and now I shall move on with my men. But you must have
made a wide circuit, to judge by the road you are on!"
"Charles gave me the command of a large troop that he has cantonned on
the frontiers of Brittany."
"Does he expect to attack Armorica?"
"I do not know. I left the troops entrenched in two old Roman camps, one
to the right, the other to the left of a long road that winds up there."
"Is the troop large?"
"About two thousand men distributed in two camps."
"Charles can undertake nothing against Brittany with so small a number
of soldiers."
"All he expects to do is to reconnoiter the frontier of the country
until after the war with the Frisians is ended, when he will be able to
give his attention in person to the accursed Armorica. This province has
resisted our arms for more than three centuries, since the glorious
Clovis conquered Gaul. Indeed it is a shame to us!"
"Yes, the independence of Armorica is a shame to the arms of the
Franks."
"Here is Charles' letter," said Bertchram pulling from under his cuirass
a scroll of parchment that he delivered to Amael, and ordering the two
horses which his slaves had unsaddled to be brought forward, he added:
"Look at them! Are there any nobler or more spirited animals in the
world?"
"No," answered Amael unable to avoid admiring the two superb stallions,
that were with difficulty held by the slaves. The horses reared and
caracoled, daintily striking the ground with their hoofs; one was ebony
black, with a bluish tinge; the other, white as snow, shone like silver.
Their nostrils were inflated, their eyes sparkled under their long
manes, and they lashed the air with their flowing tails.
"These are noble horses!" said Amael smothering a sigh; and motioning to
the slaves to re-cover the animals with their housings, he muttered:
"Adieu, fine battle horses! Adieu magnificent armors!" Turning to the
Frank, Amael said: "I wish you a happy journey.... I shall see you again
at the abbey of Meriadek where I hope you may enjoy yourself."
"Adieu, Berthoald; but ... a thought strikes me. Should your men refuse
to admit me during your absence, what shall I do?"
"Keep Charles' letter; it will notify my men of Charles' pleasure. You
may break the seal before them."
"I shall do it that way. Adieu, I shall take your place at the abbey,
where I expect to have a dull time until your return. Adieu, and come
back soon."
"One more question.... Who are the chiefs of the troops that are
cantonned near the frontiers of Brittany?"
"Two friends of yours, Hermann and Gondulf. They asked me to remember
them to you."
"Now, good-bye."
"Good-bye, Berthoald."
The chief of the Frankish troops, having resumed his march, followed by
his troops and train, soon disappeared before the eyes of the fugitives.
Amael returned to the tree under which his traveling companions were
assembled. Hardly had he taken a few steps towards them when his mother
opened her arms to him: "Come, my son; I have heard every word. Now, at
least, your renunciation of a brilliant career, that might have dazzled
you, is voluntary!"
"You were near me, mother, and yonder I saw the frontiers of Brittany.
Could I be dazzled by any favors from Charles against my mother and my
country?"
"Oh!" cried the matron tenderly pressing Amael to her breast. "This day
makes me forget all that I have suffered!"
"And this, mother, is the first happy day that I have had in years--a
day of unalloyed happiness."
"You see I was right, your son's heart remained true," said Septimine to
Rosen-Aer with touching kindness.
"Septimine!" replied Amael with a look of tenderness, "would you doubt
my heart in the future?"
"No, Amael," she answered naively, looking at the young man with an
expression of timidity and surprise. "I shall never doubt you."
"Mother, this sweet and brave girl saved your life; she is now a
fugitive, forever separated from her family. If she should consent to
give me her hand, would you accept her as a daughter?"
"Oh, with joy! With thankfulness!" said Rosen-Aer. "But would you
consent to the union, Septimine?"
Blushing with surprise, with happiness and confusion, the girl threw
herself on the neck of Amael's mother, and holding her face on the
matron's breast, murmured:
"I loved him since the day he showed himself so generous toward me at
the convent of St. Saturnine. Did he not there protect me?"
"Oh, Rosen-Aer!" now exclaimed the old man who had stood near wrapped in
thought, "the gods have blessed my old age, seeing they reserved such a
day for me." And after a few seconds of silent emotion, shared in by the
young apprentices, the old man proceeded, saying: "My friends, if you
will take my advice, let us resume our march. We shall have to walk
briskly in order to arrive to-morrow evening at the frontier of
Armorica."
"Mother," said Amael, "lean upon me; you will not now refuse the support
of my arm?"
"No, oh, no! my child!" answered the matron with tenderness, and brimful
of happiness, taking her son's arm.
"And you, good father," said Septimine to the old goldsmith, "you lean
on me."
The fugitives resumed their march. After having traveled without
accident until night and the following day, they arrived at moon-rise
not far from the first spurs of the wild and high mountains that serve
both as boundary and as ramparts to Armorica. The sight of his native
soil awoke in Bonaik the recollections of his boyhood days as if by
enchantment. Having before now crossed the frontiers with his father in
order to attend the Breton fairs, he remembered that four druid stones
of colossal size rose not far from a path that was cut between the
rocks, and that was so closely hemmed in, that it allowed only one
person to march abreast. The fugitives entered the path one after the
other and began climbing the steep ascent. Amael marched first.
Presently they arrived at a little clearing or platform, surrounded by
precipices and beetled over by huge rocks.
Suddenly the fugitives heard from a far distance above their heads a
sonorous voice, that, quivering through the surrounding and profound
silence of the night, melancholically chanted these words:
"She was young,
She was fair,
And holy was she;
Hena her name,
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen."
Rosen-Aer, Bonaik and Amael, the three descendants of Joel, remained for
a moment transfixed with exaltation, and yielding to an irresistible
impulse all three fell upon their knees. Tears ran down their cheeks.
Septimine and the apprentices, sharing the emotion which they were
unable to account for, also fell upon their knees, and all listened,
while the sonorous voice which seemed to descend from the skies,
concluded the Gallic chant now eight centuries old.
"Oh, Hesus!" finally exclaimed Rosen-Aer, raising her tear-stained face
toward the starry vault where the sacred luminary of Gaul was shining in
its splendor, "Oh, Hesus! I see a divine omen in this chant, so dear to
the descendants of Joel.... Blessed be the chant! It salutes us at this
solemn hour when, at last setting foot on this free soil, we return to
the ancient cradle of our family!"
Guided by the old goldsmith, Amael, his mother, Septimine and the
apprentices, arrived in the vicinity of the sacred stones of Karnak, and
were tenderly received by the sons of Bonaik's brother. Amael became a
field laborer, the young apprentices followed his example and settled in
the tribe. At the death of Bonaik, the abbatial crosier, which he had
finished at his leisure, was joined to the relics of the family of Joel
accompanied by this narrative which I, Amael, the son of Guen-Ael, who
was the son of Wanoch, who was the son of Alan a grandson of Ronan the
Vagre through Ronan's son Gregory, wrote shortly after our return to
Brittany.
THE END.