“As you please, your lordship; but where will you find it? The dwarfs took it away from my poor husband and he always thought that they only gave him such a sound thrashing because he wanted to put it in his pocket to show to the magistrates. He used to say when he was in a good humour——”
“Enough—enough! Only tell me the name of the cavern!”
“It is called the cavern of the dwarfs, your lordship, and very well named too. My deceased husband——”
“Not another word, Maurille! But you. Francoeur, do you know where this cavern is?”
“Your lordship,” replied Francoeur as he emptied the pot of beer, “you would certainly know it if you knew my songs better. I have written at least a dozen about this cavern, and I’ve described it without even forgetting a single sprig of moss. I venture to say, your lordship, that of these dozen songs, six are of great merit. And even the other six are not to be despised. I will sing you one or two....”
“Francoeur,” cried George, “we will take possession of this cavern of the dwarfs and rescue Honey-Bee.”
“Of course we will!” replied Francoeur.
