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As he spoke, King Loc, grave and tender, had something of the gentle beauty of a majestic poodle. "Little King Loc," Honey-Bee replied, as she pulled his beard, "I am willing to become your wife for fun, but never your wife for good. The moment you asked me to marry you I was reminded of Francoeur, who when I was on earth used to amuse me by telling me the most ridiculous stories."
It is true that Francoeur frequented the tavern "The Pewter Pot" somewhat too zealously. It was here that he forgot his sorrows and composed his songs. But of course it was very wrong of him. Homer made better verses than Francoeur, and Homer only drank the water of the springs.
Francoeur had fastened the horses on the edge of a little grove near the postern, and there he found them nibbling at the bark of the bushes; they were swift steeds, and it took them less than an hour to reach the mountain of the dwarfs, through a crowd of goblins and phantoms. "Here is the cave," said Francoeur. Master and man dismounted and, sword in hand, penetrated into the cavern.
When he was very little Francoeur the squire used to bring him to my room every morning and I kissed him. But now Francceur is in Rome, and Flying Wind is too big to mount the stairs." King Loc smiled. "Will you love me more than Flying Wind?" "Indeed I would," said Honey-Bee. "Well said," cried the King.
"Little King Loc," she said to him, "I love you for the little King Loc you are; and if you make me laugh as Francoeur did, there is nothing in that to vex you, for Francoeur sang well and he would have been very handsome if it had not been for his grey hair and his red nose."
The dwarf disappeared and again George was left alone with Francoeur who said to him: "Your lordship, possibly I may exaggerate if I remark that in your answer to the dwarf you have not quite exhausted all the persuasive powers of eloquence." Francoeur was afraid of nothing, but he was old; his heart like his head was polished by age, and he disliked to offend people.
How could eyes about to be extinguished for ever bear the light of two dear eyes in which the soul was only beginning to dawn? She ordered a steed to be saddled and followed by her squire, Francoeur, she rode to the castle of Clarides. The Duchess of Clarides embraced the Countess of Blanchelande. "Loveliest! what good fortune brings you here?" "The fortune that brings me here is not good.
I have written at least a dozen about this cavern, and I've described it without even forgetting a single sprig of moss. I venture to say, your lordship, that of these dozen songs, six are of great merit. And even the other six are not to be despised. I will sing you one or two...." "Francoeur," cried George, "we will take possession of this cavern of the dwarfs and rescue Honey-Bee."
Indeed, it was true, for the head of the old nurse could only be compared to a cracked soup-pot. It was with the greatest difficulty that George and Francoeur got anything good out of it.
Whereupon Honey-Bee set up a most awful roar and the squire, Francoeur, who was strolling about in the garden, said to his young master: "It is not worthy of a Count of Blanchelande to strike young ladies, your lordship." Whereupon George was seized with an ardent desire to hit Francoeur also with his spade.
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