ful," 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. "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. I must leave this work to thee, _gacheur_. And stand up and
touch a hand to thy cap when I speak to thee, slow-worm."

"Yes, monsieur," said Hyacinthe wearily.

It is hard to do all the work and to be beaten into the bargain. And
fourteen is not very old. Hyacinthe worked on at the cabinet with his
slow and exquisite skill. But on Christmas eve he was still at work,
and the cabinet unfinished.

"The master will beat me," thought Hyacinthe, and he trembled a
little, for Pierre's beatings were cruel. "But i