Blanquette felt all was lost. It only took a moment's thought about the story of old Renaude, who became the wolf's meal after bravely fighting all night, to convince her that perhaps it would have been better to get it over with, and to let herself be eaten there and then. Afterwards, thinking better of it, she squared up to the big bad wolf, head down, horns ready, like the brave little kid goat of Monsieur Seguin that she was ... not that she expected to kill him--goats don't kill wolves--but just to see if she could last out as long as Renaude.... As the big bad wolf drew near, she with her little horns set to into the fray. Oh! the brave little kid goat; how she went at it with such a great heart. A dozen times, I'll swear, Gringoire, she forced the wolf back to catch his breath. During these brief respites, she grabbed a blade or two of the grass that she loved so much; then, still munching, joined the battle again.... The whole night passed like this. Occasionally, Monsieur Seguin's kid goat looked up at the twinkling stars in the clear sky and said to herself: --Oh dear, I hope I can last out till the morning.... One by one the stars faded away. Blanquette intensified her charges, while the wolf replied with his teeth. The pale daylight appeared gradually over the horizon. A cockerel crowed hoarsely from a farm below. --At last! said the poor animal, who was only waiting for the morning to come so that she could die bravely, and she laid herself down on the ground, her beautiful white fur stained with blood. It was then, at last, that the wolf fell on the little goat and devoured her. * * * * * Goodbye, Gringoire! The story you have heard is not of my making. If you ever come to Provence, our tenant farmers often tell you, of _M. Seguin's kid goat_, who fought the big bad wolf all night before he ate her in the morning. Think about it, Gringoire, _the big bad wolf ate her in the morning._ THE STARS _A tale from a Provencal shepherd._