The idiot had time enough to run to the tree, pluck an apple from it, and remount his colt, which continued its onward course.
And so they came out of the plain; and behold, there lay a thicket before them, formed of the very loveliest plants. There were to be seen roses of every hue, Spanish brooms, rose-coloured honeysuckles, and, towering above all, the mysterious laughing flower; but round about the thicket stalked a lion, with a mane of vipers, rolling his eyes, and with his teeth grinding like a couple of new mill-stones.
Peronnik stopped, and bowed over and over again; for he knew that in the presence of the powerful a hat is more serviceable in the hand than on the head. He wished all sorts of prosperities to the lion and his family; and requested to know if he was without mistake upon the road to Kerglas.
“And what are you going to do at Kerglas?” cried the ferocious beast with a terrible air.
“May it please your worship,” replied the idiot timidly, “I am in the service of a lady who is a great friend of Lord Rogéar, and she has sent him something as a present to make a lark-pasty of.”
“Larks!” repeated the lion, licking his moustache; “it is an age since I have tasted them. How many have you got?”
“This bagful, your lordship,” replied Peronnik, showing the cloth-bag which he had stuffed with feathers and birdlime.
And in order to verify his words, he began to counterfeit the warbling of larks.
This song aggravated the lion’s appetite.
“Let me see,” said he, drawing near; “show me your birds; I should like to know if they are large enough to be served up at our master’s table.”