"First of all Daoulas the murderer: he killed Houarne without a fight and in his sleep. The druids have sentenced him to die this evening. The blood of a cowardly murderer is an expiation agreeable to Hesus." "And the second sacrifice?" "Our relative Julyan wishes, out of friendship, to rejoin Armel, whom he loyally killed in a contest. This evening, glorified by the chant of the bards, he will go, agreeable to his vow, and join Armel in the unknown worlds. The blood of a brave man, voluntarily offered to Hesus, is agreeable to him." "And the third sacrifice, dear child?" asked Mamm' Margarid; "Who is it?" Hena did not answer. She dropped her blonde and charming head upon the knees of Margarid, remained a while in a revery, kissed her mother's hands and said to her with a sweet smile that brought back old remembrances: "How often did not little Hena, when still a child, fall asleep of an evening on your knees, mother, while you spun at your distaff, and when all of you now present, except Albinik, were gathered at the hearth, narrating the virile virtues of our mothers and our fathers of old!" "It is true, dear daughter," answered Margarid caressingly passing her hand over the blonde hair of her child; "it is true. And here among us we all loved you so much for your good heart and your infantine grace, that when we saw you had fallen asleep on my knees, we all spoke in a low voice not to awake you." Stumpy, who was among the crowd of relatives, put in: "But who is that third human sacrifice, that is to appease Hesus and deliver us from war? Who, Hena, is the third to be sacrificed this evening?" "I shall tell you, Stumpy, when I shall have had a little time to meditate upon the past," answered the young maid dreamily, without leaving her mother's knees; and passing her hand over her forehead as if to refreshen her memory, she looked around, pointed to the stone where stood the copper bowl with the seven twigs of mistletoe and proceeded saying: "When I was twelve, do my father and mother remember how happy I was at having been selected by the female druids of the Isle of Sen to receive in a veil of linen, whitened in the dew of night, the mistletoe which the druids cut with a gold sickle at the moment when the moon shed its clearest light? Do my father and mother remember how, bringing home the mistletoe to sanctify our home, I was taken hither by the ewaghs in a chariot decked with flowers and greens while the bards sang the glory of Hesus? What tender embraces did not my whole family lavish upon me at my return! What a feast it was in our tribe!" "Dear, dear daughter," said Margarid pressing Hena's head against her maternal breast, "if the female druids chose you to receive the sacred mistletoe in a linen veil, it was because your soul was as pure as the veil."