The two men seemed struck with the singular coincidence: at a distance, the chant of revolt, of war and blood; close to them, the girl's angelic voice, singing the praises of Hena, one of the sweetest glories of Armorican Gaul. Presently, however, as Odille yielded more and more to the gentle pressure of slumber, her voice was heard ever fainter until from a murmur, it became hardly audible. The girl's head drooped on her breast, and with her back sustained by the trunk of the tree she fell into profound sleep. "Poor child!" said Ronan as he covered her with his cloak. "She is overcome with fatigue. May her sleep give her rest and strength!" "Ronan," observed the hermit fastening a penetrating look upon the Vagre, "the chant of Hena made you weep--" "It is true, good hermit." "What is the reason of such emotion?" "A family remembrance--if a Vagre, a 'Wand'ring Man,' a 'Wolf,' a 'Wolf's-Head' can be at all said to have a family--" "And what is that family remembrance?" "The sweet Hena, to whom the chant refers, was one of my ancestresses." "How do you know that?" "My father often told me so; in my childhood he used to relate to me the histories of olden days, of centuries ago." "Where is your father now?" "I do not know. He used to run the Bagaudy, perhaps he now runs the Vagrery, unless he has died the brave death of a brave man. I do not expect to be enlightened upon that until he and I meet again elsewhere--" "Where?" "In those mysterious worlds that none knows and that we shall all know--seeing that we shall all continue to live there--" "You have, then, preserved the faith of our ancestors?" "My father taught me that to die was to change vestments, because we leave this world to be re-born in yonder ones. Death is but a transformation." "Is it long since you were separated from your father?" "Let us drop that subject--it is a sad one. I prefer to keep up a cheerful mood. And yet, I feel drawn towards you, although you are not cheerful--" "We live in days when, in order to be cheerful, one's soul must be either very weak or very strong." "Do you think me weak?" "I think you are both strong and weak. But as to your father--what has become of him?" "Well, my father was a Bagauder in his youth; later, after the Franks christened us 'Vagres,' he became a Vagre. The name was changed, the pursuit remained the same." "And your mother?"