One day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take a
longer walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from the
little girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her. They
came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou, but
which now, I believe, harbors a casino or something of the sort. At
that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden
beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christine's scarf
out to sea. Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf
was already far on the waves. Then she heard a voice say: "It's all right, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea."
And she saw a little boy running fast, in spite of the outcries and the
indignant protests of a worthy lady in black. The little boy ran into
the sea, dressed as he was, and brought her back her scarf. Boy and
scarf were both soaked through. The lady in black made a great fuss,
but Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy, who was none
other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, staying at Lannion with his
aunt.
During the season, they saw each other and played together almost every
day. At the aunt's request, seconded by Professor Valerius, Daae
consented to give the young viscount some violin lessons. In this way,
Raoul learned to love the same airs that had charmed Christine's
childhood. They also both had the same calm and dreamy little cast of
mind. They delighted in stories, in old Breton legends; and their
favorite sport was to go and ask for them at the cottage-doors, like
beggars: "Ma'am ..." or, "Kind gentleman ... have you a little story to tell us,
please?"
And it seldom happened that they did not have one "given" them; for
nearly every old Breton grandame has, at least once in her life, seen
the "korrigans" dance by moonlight on the heather.
But their great treat was, in the twilight, in the great silence of the
evening, after the sun had set in the sea, when Daae came and sat down
by them on the roadside and, in a low voice, as though fearing lest he
should frighten the ghosts whom he evoked, told them the legends of the
land of the North. And, the moment he stopped, the children would ask
for more.
There was one story that began: "A king sat in a little boat on one of those deep, still lakes that
open like a bright eye in the midst of the Norwegian mountains ..."
And another: "Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden
as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She
wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock
and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when
she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music."