She felt herself doomed.

At length she reached her grandmother's house, but she could not work, she could scarcely stand.

The once radiant Franconnette could neither play nor sing; she could only weep.
Thus ended two cantos of the poem.

The third opens with a lovely picture of a cottage by a leafy brookside in the hamlet of Estanquet.

The spring brought out the singing-birds to pair and build their nests.