I heard a cackle of unpleasant laughter. I looked up quickly and saw, sitting at the opposite side of my table, a little old woman, extremely hideous of face, hook-nosed, toothless, and wrinkled, munching her gums and watching me with little, malicious eyes. The ancient hag did not leave me long in doubt about her business. “Master tailor,” said she, “the fortune is yours if you will have it.” Her voice was like nothing so much as the crackling of dry wood in a brisk fire. “Never mind what I know nor how I know it,” she went on, answering my thought before I spoke. “What would you give to know where and how to obtain the thread which will hold the button?” “Anything!” I cried. “That is, almost anything.” “Would you marry?” I thought of the adorable young lady whom I had seen the night before. “Willingly!” I said. “That is,--yes, I think--” “Then I will tell you the condition on which you may have the thread. You must marry me.” I looked at the frightful old creature; then I laughed and laughed; I could not help it. She arose in a great fury, grasped the crooked stick which she bore with her, and hobbled toward the door. “You shall never find it!” she said. “No, never! You shall be a black and penniless outcast! You shall wish you had never been born! You are lost, lost, lost!” That terrible prospect sobered me. If this woman could by any chance save me from such a fate, what price would be too great? “Come back,” I said, “I will think it over.” “Speak!” said she. “Will you, or will you not?” I looked at her. She was very old. She could not live long, at best. She might not live until the wedding day. And if she should, a man of my wealth and power could afterward find the means of mitigating the horrors of such a marriage. “How do I know you can perform your promise?” I asked. “You need not perform yours until I have performed mine. Come, master tailor, will you or will you not?” “I will,” said I. “On the day when I receive my fortune from the Prince, I will marry you. Merciful powers!” “Good,” said she. “Now listen to me. The thread which will hold the button is the single black hair in the tail of the white unicorn, Alb, who feeds in the half-moon pasture of Korbi, by the river Tarn. Listen carefully while I tell you what you must do.” She then gave me the most minute directions; and when she had finished, she arose and hobbled to the door. “Stop!” I said. “Tell me who you are, and where you live, and when I shall see you again.” She answered never a word; she was gone. _The Jolly Mule Driver and His Sing-Song_