their hands in praises loud.
"Oh! what a lovely song!" they cried. "Who is the poet?"
"'Tis Pascal," answered
Thomas, "that has made it!"
"Bravo! Long live Pascal!" exclaimed the fervent crowd.
Nothing said Franconnette; but
she rejoiced--was proud--
At having so much love evoked,
And in a song so touching,
Before this crowd
admiring.
Then she became more serious as she thought of Pascal;
"How brave he is! 'Tis all for him; he
has not got his equal!
How he paints love! All praise him without doubt;
And his sweet song--so touching!" for
now by heart she knows it.
"But if he loves at last, why does he hide away?"
Then turning suddenly,
she says--
"Thomas, he is not here, away he stays;
I would him compliment; can he not come?"
"Oh! now
he cannot; but remains at home."
Then spoke the jealous Lawrence: "Pascal knows
He cannot any other
songs compose;
Poor fellow! almost ruined quite he is;
His father's most infirm--stretched out, and cannot
rise;
The baker will not give him bread, he is constrained to debts."
Then Franconnette grew pale, and
said, "And he so very good!
Poor lad! how much he suffers; and now he wants his food!"
"My faith!" said
Lawrence, a heart of goodness aping,
"They say that now he goes a-begging!"
"You lie!" cried Thomas,
"hold thy serpent's tongue!
Pascal, 'tis true, is working, yet with harm,
Since, for this maiden, he has
suffered in his arm;
But he is cured; heed not this spiteful knave!
He works now all alone, for he is strong
and brave."
If someone on the girl his eyes had set,
He would have seen tears on the cheeks of Franconnette.
"Let's 'Hunt the Slipper!"' cried the maids;
Round a wide ring they sat, the jades.
Slipper was bid by Franconnette,
But in a twinkle, Marionette--
"Lawrence, hast thou my slipper?" "No, demoiselle!"
"Rise then, and seek it
now, ah, well!"
Lawrence, exulting in his features,
Said, "Franconnette, hast thou my slipper?"
"No, sir!" "'Tis
false!" It was beneath her seat!
"Thou hast it! Rise! Now kiss me as the forfeit!"
A finch, just taken in
a net,
First tries some gap to fly at;
So Franconnette, just like a bird, escaped
With Lawrence, whom
she hated;
Incensed he turned to kiss her;
He swiftly ran, but in his pursuit warm,
The moment she was
caught he stumbled,
Slipped, fell, and sudden broke his arm. 
Misfortunes ne'er come single, it is said.
The gloomy night was now far spent;
But in that fright of frights, quite in a breath,
The house-door creaked
and ope'd! Was it a wraith?
No! but an old man bearded to the waist,
And now there stood before the
throng the Black Wood Ghaist!
"Imprudent youths!? he cried; "I come from gloomy rocks up yonder,
Your eyes to ope: I'm filled with wrath and wonder!
You all admire this Franconnette;
Learn who she
is, infatuate!
From very cradle she's all evil;
Her wretched father, miserable,
Passed to the Hugnenots
and sold her to the Devil;
Her mother died of shame--
And thus the demon plays his game.
Now he has
bought this woman base,
He tracks her in her hiding-place.
You see how he has punished Pascal and
Lawrence
Because they gave her light embrace!
Be warned! For who so dares this maid to wed,
Amid
the brief delight of their first nuptial night,
Will sudden hear a thunder-peal o'er head!
The demon cometh
in his might
To snatch the bride away in fright,
And leave the ill-starred bridegroom dead!"
The Wizard
said no more; but angry, fiery rays,
From scars his visage bore, seemed suddenly to blaze.
Four times
he turned his heel upon,
Then bade the door stand wide, or ere his foot he stayed;
With one long creak
the door obeyed,
And lo! the bearded ghaist was gone!
He left great horror in his wake! None stirred
in all the throng;
They looked nor left nor right, when he away had gone,
They seemed all changed to
stone--
Only the stricken maid herself stood brave against her wrong;
And in the hope forlorn that all
might pass for jest,
With tremulous smile, half bright, half pleading,
She swept them with her eyes, and
two steps forward pressed;
But when she saw them all receding,
And heard them cry "Avaunt!" then did
she know her fate;
Then did her saddened eyes dilate
With speechless terror more and more,
The while
her heart beat fast and loud,
Till with a cry her head she bowed
And sank in swoon upon the floor.
Such
was the close of Busking night,
Though it began so gay and bright;
The morrow was the New Year's day,
It should have been a time most gay;
But now there went abroad a fearful rumour--
It was remembered
long time after
In every house and cottage home throughout the land--
Though 'twas a fiction and a
superstition,--
It was, "The De'il's abroad! He's now a-roaming;
How dreadful! He is now for lost souls
seeking!"
The folks were roused and each one called to mind
That some, in times of yore, had heard
the sound
Of Devil's chains that clanked;
How soon the father vanished,
The mother, bent in agony,
A
maniac she died!
That then all smiled; they felt nor hurt nor harm,
They lived quite happy on their cottage
farm,
And when the fields were spoilt with hail or rain,
Their ground was covered o'er with plums and
grain.
It was enough; the girls believed it all,
Grandmothers, mothers--thoughts did them appal--
Even
infants trembled at the demon's name;
And when the maiden hung her head in pain,.
And went abroad,
they scarce would give her passage;
They called to her, "Away! Avaunt! thou imp of evil,
Behold the
crime of dealing with the Devil!" 
THIRD PART.
The Maid at Estanquet--A Bad Dream - The Grandmother's