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Updated: June 13, 2025
"The broth is not so rich as this in the Kerver kitchen," thought he, "but it may have a better taste." Upon this, he entered the third room. There also a pot was suspended from a hook, and boiling without fire. Yvon dipped a lock of hair into it, and took it out all coated with gold. It shone so brightly that it might have been mistaken for a sunbeam. "Good!" cried he.
He deserved the title, for never was there a bolder heart. One day, when the baron had stayed at home, and was amusing himself by breaking a lance with his squire, Yvon entered the armory in a traveling dress, and, bending one knee to the ground, "My lord and father," said he to the baron, "I come to ask your blessing.
It was nothing but jealousy which had prompted such a mad, cruel act, and jealousy of the most unreasonable he might almost say unpardonable kind: a father to be jealous of his wife's love for his own child! There was a German saying, excellent in the original, but which lost the double play upon the words in the translation which Père Yvon quoted to the baron
If any one is in search of death, he can find it here." The deed almost running ahead of the thought, Yvon raised his bow, adjusted an arrow and, invisible to Gregory, thanks to the darkness without, took straight aim at the tavern-keeper's breast.
Bent under the table, and completely concealed by the ample folds of the cover which trailed along the floor, the idiot moved forward on his hands and knees as, carried by the servants, the table was being taken towards the royal lounge. When it was set down before Louis and Blanche, Yvon also stopped.
"In our country the old women have a saying, 'Everything gets worse and worse'; here it is just the contrary everything gets better and better. What shall I find in the fourth room, I wonder diamond soup?" He pushed open the door and saw something rarer than precious stones. This was a young woman of such marvelous beauty that Yvon, dazzled, fell on his knees at the sight.
He knows best, and He will not send any of us more than we are able to bear," replied Père Yvon, as he went on his sad mission to the old baroness.
Yvon, in whose atelier I worked, was essentially a teacher, and his more recent assignment to the directorship of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts put him in his true place, that of a master of style in drawing and the elements of art instruction. He was engaged, when I knew him, on the battle-pieces of the Crimean war, the chief of which were already at Versailles.
"I will obey," said Yvon; upon which he sat down by the young girl and began to talk with her. She was the daughter of a fairy, whom the wretched giant had made his slave. Friendship soon springs up between companions in misfortune. The difficulty was to find the means. Time passes quickly in this kind of talk.
"Hold your tongue, fool," returned the giant; "you will see her sooner than you will want to." The third day at dawn the giant gathered his sheep together to lead them to the pasture; but, before setting out, he said to Yvon: "To-day you must go to the bottomless pit to collect my rent. After that," continued he, bursting into a laugh, "you may rest all day long. You see that I am a good master."
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