"How it is beautiful!" said
Hyacinthe, and for a moment his eyes glowed, and he was happy. Then
the light passed and with bent head he shuffled back to his bench
through a foam of white shavings curling almost to his knees.
"Madame will want the cabinet for Christmas," repeated Hyacinthe to
himself, and fell to work harder than ever, though it was so cold in
the shed that his breath hung in the air like a little silvery cloud.
There was a tiny window on his right, through which, when it was clear
of frost, one looked on Terminaison; and that was cheerful, and made
him whistle. But to the left, through the chink of the ill-fitting
door, there was nothing to be seen but the forest, and the road dying
under the snow.
Brandy was good at the Cinq Chateaux and Pierre L'Oreillard gave
Hyacinthe plenty of directions, but no further help with the cabinet.
"That is to be finished for Madame at the festival, sluggard," said he
every day, cuffing Hyacinthe about the head, "finished, and with a
prettiness about the corners, hearest thou, _ourson_?"
"Yes, Monsieur," said Hyacinthe in his slow way; "I will try to finish
it. But if I hurry I shall spoil it."
Pierre's little eyes flickered. "See that it is done, and done
properly. I suffer from a delicacy of the constitution and a little
feebleness of the legs these days, so that I cannot handle the tools
properly.
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