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Updated: May 10, 2025
"M'sieu' Létonne," he said, with alarming calm, "you have committed an unpardonable impertinence. At the same time you have unwittingly saved my life. You have heard of men, strong men, laughing themselves to death?" Leighton, who had seated himself, bowed. "Well," continued Le Brux, "I can assure you that you and your pail of slops arrived only in time to avert a tragedy.
"I am sorry," said Leighton, "that the boy can't understand you. Your remark caps an argument I had with him the other day on the evanescent spirit in art." The fish arrived. "The only fish," remarked Leighton, "that can properly be served without a sauce." "And why?" said Le Brux, helping himself to the young trout fried in olive oil and simply garnished with lemon. "I will tell thee.
Le Brux raised his bushy eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and threw out his hands. "Eh," he grunted, "it is for the boy to say. Has he the courage? They are his offspring." The two men stood and looked at Lewis. His eyes passed from them to his work and back again to Leighton's face. "You are my father," he said.
"Done!" cried Le Brux, with a laugh that shook heaven and earth. "Ah, rascal, thou knowest that I never pay." As they went the rounds of the atelier, Lewis saw that his father was growing nervous. Finally, Leighton drew from his pocket the little kid and its two broken legs. He held the lot out to Le Brux. The fragments seemed to dwindle to pin-points in Le Brux's vast hand.
"So," he said, "somewhere the boy has seen a murder." "Ha!" cried Le Brux. "You see it? You see it? He has not troubled to put the throat within that grip but it's there. Ah, it's there! I could see it. You see it. Presto! everybody will see it." He replaced the cloth. "In a couple of years," he went on, "my work will be done. Let him show nothing, know nothing, till, then."
"One day," continued Le Brux, "the boy rushed in here without knocking. He had something to show me. I did not have the hardihood to rebuke him, but, remembering myself in the quality of wet nurse, I was dismayed, for on this very couch lay Cellette Cellette simple, without garnishings, you understand. She was lying on her front, her chin in her hand, and reading a book.
You're nothing but a palimpsest, the record of a single age. What are your works but one man's thumb-print on the face of time? Here I am giving you a chance to be a creator, to breed a live human that will carry on the torch that will " Le Brux had seated himself heavily on the couch. He held his massive head between his hands and groaned.
Leighton's heart was in the grip he gave the boy's hand so frankly held out. "Maître," remarked Cellette from the bed, "believe me if you can: he is still a babe." "A babe!" cried Le Brux, catching Lewis with finger and thumb and lifting him away from the board. "I should say he is. Here!" He caught up chunks of wet clay and hurled them at Lewis's dainty model of Cellette.
"Well, then," said Leighton, "take that!" and he dashed the pail of water over the prostrate giant. Le Brux gasped, gulped, and then sat up on the couch. He suddenly became very grave. Water trickled off his chin upon his hairy chest. The soaked smock clung to his arms and legs, accentuating the tremendous muscles.
"In no branch of science," continued Leighton, "have progress and innovation been so constantly associated as in gastronomy, and we shall consequently abandon the rule of the savants of the last generation and proceed from the light to the less light and then to the rich." "I agree," said Le Brux. Leighton nodded to the attendant. Soup was served.
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