"Just now you may sing--later not--we shall have to advance without making any noise." "Well, boys, what shall we sing?" said the veteran without either himself or his companions intermitting the regular strokes of their oars, and only slightly turning his head towards them, seeing that, seated as he was on the first bench, he sat opposite to me. "Come, make your choice!" "The song of the mariners, will that suit you?" answered one of the soldiers. "That is rather long," replied Douarnek. "The song of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys?" "That is very beautiful," again replied Douarnek, "but it is a song of slaves who await their deliverance; by the bones of our fathers, we are now free in old Gaul!" "Friend Douarnek," said I, "it was to the refrain of that slaves' song--'Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!' that our fathers, arms in hand, reconquered the freedom that we enjoy to-day." "That is true, Schanvoch, but that song is very long, and you warned us that we were soon to become silent as fishes." "Douarnek," one of the soldiers spoke up, "sing to us the song of Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen. It always brings tears to my eyes. She is my favorite saint, the beautiful and sweet Hena, who lived centuries and centuries ago." "Yes, yes," said the other soldiers, "sing the song of Hena, Douarnek! That song predicts the victory of Gaul--and Gaul is to-day triumphant!" Hearing these words I was greatly moved, I felt happy and, I confess it, proud at seeing that the name of Hena, dead more than three hundred years, had remained in Gaul as popular as it was at the time of Sylvest. "Very well, the song of Hena it shall be!" replied the veteran. "I also love the sweet and saintly girl, who offered her blood to Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul. And you, Schanvoch, do you know the song?" "Yes--quite well--I have heard it sung--" "You will know it enough to repeat the refrain with us." Saying this Douarnek struck up the song in a full and sonorous voice that reached far over the waters of the Rhine: "She was young, she was fair, And holy was she. To Hesus her blood gave That Gaul might be free. Hena her name! Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen! "--Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,-- Said her father Joel, The brenn of the tribe of Karnak. --Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter, Since you are at home this night To celebrate the day of your birth!-- "--Blessed be the gods, my sweet girl,-- Said Margarid, her mother. --Blessed be your coming! But why is your face so sad?-- "--My face is sad, my good mother; My face is sad, my good father, Because Hena your daughter Comes to bid you Adieu, Till we meet again.-- "--And where are you going, my sweet daughter? Will your journey, then, be long? Whither thus are you going?--