While thus occupied, she, one night, heard a knock at the door, and a voice enquiring whether the oven was hot, and whether a batch of dough might be baked in it. A voice from within then enquired who it was that stood without, and, on the answer being given that it was Le Petit Colin, permission was immediately granted, and the door opened to admit him. She then heard the noise of the dough being placed in the oven, and a conversation between the two, by which she learned that the inmate of the house was called Le Grand Colin. After the usual time the bread was drawn, and the mysterious visitor departed, leaving behind him, on the table, a nicely baked cake, with an intimation that it was in return for the use of the oven. This was repeated frequently and at regular intervals, and the woman at last mentioned the circumstance to her husband. The fairer sex is frequently accused of an inclination to pry into secrets and taunted with the evils which too often result from inordinate curiosity, but in this instance it was the husband who was to blame. He was seized with a violent desire to penetrate the mystery, notwithstanding the earnest entreaties of his wife--who had a shrewd suspicion of the real state of the case--that he should leave well alone. His will prevailed, and it was settled that on the night when the invisible baker was expected, the husband should take his wife’s place on the “jonquière,” disguised in her clothes, and that she should go to bed. Knowing that her husband could not spin, the careful housewife thought it prudent not to put the usual supply of flax or wool on the distaff, lest the good man, in turning the wheel, should spoil it. He had not been long at his post and pretending to spin, when the expected visitor came. He could see nothing, but he heard one of the two say to the other:-- _“File, filiocque,_ _Rien en brocque,_ _Barbe à cé ser_ _Pas l’autre ser.”_ (“There’s flax on the distaff, But nothing is spun; To night there’s a beard, T’other night there was none.”) Upon which both were heard to quit the house as if in anger, and were never again known to revisit it.[107] [107] From William Le Poidevin, confirmed by Mrs. Savidan. EDITOR’S NOTES. Compare in Amélie Bosquet’s book _La Normandie Romanesque et Merveilleuse_, p. 130-131, _Le Lutin ou le Fé Amoureux_ and Webster’s _Basque Legends_, p. 55-56.