Pierre L'Oreillard had a small heavy bundle under his arm, wrapped in
sacking, and then in burlap, and then in fine soft cloths. He laid it
on a pile of shavings, and unfolded it carefully; and a dim sweetness
filled the dark shed and hung heavily in the thin winter sunbeams.
"It is a piece of wood," said Hyacinthe in slow surprise. He knew that
such wood had never been seen in Terminaison.
Pierre L'Oreillard rubbed the wood respectfully with his knobby
fingers.
"It is sandalwood," he explained to Hyacinthe, pride of knowledge
making him quite amiable, "a most precious wood that grows in warm
countries, thou great goblin. Smell it, idiot. It is sweeter than
cedar. It is to make a cabinet for the old Madame at the big house."
"_Oui, mon maitre_," said the dull Hyacinthe.
"Thy great hands shall shape and smooth the wood, _nigaud_, and I
will render it beautiful," said Pierre, puffing out his chest.
"Yes, Master," answered Hyacinthe humbly, "and when is it to be ready
for Madame?"
"Madame will want it perhaps next week, for that is Christmas. It is
to be finished and ready on the holy festival, great sluggard. Hearest
thou?" and he cuffed Hyacinthe's ears again furiously.
Hyacinthe knew that the making of the cabinet would fall to him, as
most of the other work did. When Pierre L'Oreillard was gone he
touched the strange sweet wood and at last laid his cheek against it,
while the fragrance caught his breath.
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