how grandgousier tried to buy peace with five cart-loads of buns.

king picrochole must have been a very mean man. you will begin to think so when you know how he treated ulrich gallet, who was sent by good old father grandgousier to make peace. ulrich left the palace with five cart-loads of splendid buns, four of these carts being for the bunmakers, and the fifth and last cart being filled to the brim with buns good enough to make any one's mouth water, being made of the purest butter, the most delicious honey, the freshest eggs, and the richest saffron and other spices ever known. as ulrich went along the high-road, people would curl up their noses in delight, take two or three long sniffs, and then cry out: "ah! that last cart is the best of all."

"yes," ulrich would answer; "the buns in that cart are sent by king grandgousier to marquet himself."

"who is marquet?"

"why, don't you know that he is the man who struck our friend forgier across the shins and got beaten by our shepherds? his majesty has given me seven hundred thousand and three gold crowns for him to pay the surgeon who nursed his wounds."

"oh! how good a king we have!"

"yes, and, what is more, his majesty offers to give marquet and his heirs an apple-orchard forever, so dearly does he love peace."

"was there ever such a king as ours!" cried the people on the road, sending ulrich on with another cart-load of blessings for each mile, so that by the time he reached king picrochole's court there must have been quite a train of carts.

engraving

grandgousier's embassy.

when ulrich got near roche-clermaud, he began to fear that he wouldn't be allowed to get into it unless he could first show that he and his carts were the best of friends. so, just before reaching the limits, he placed all around his carts a great store of reeds, canes, and willow-boughs, and took good care to have every one of the drivers decorated with the same, which made them look very friendly, indeed. so great was ulrich's desire to appear like a friend that he even held a branch of each in his own hand. at this sight, the people of lerne did not curl up their noses with quite so much delight, nor take quite so many sniffs, as the good shepherds who had already been enjoying the fragrance of the buns. but, without minding cross words and sour looks, master ulrich gallet at last reached the gates of king picrochole's palace.

picrochole did not want either to let him come in, or go out to meet him, but sent word to him, instead, to tell what he had to say to captain touquedillon. then the good man, clearing his throat, said:—

"my lord, to take away all cause for any further trouble, and to remove any excuse for your master and mine not becoming once more the best of friends, i have brought with me the buns about which all this trouble began. our people took from yours five dozen buns. good!—your people were well paid for them. we love peace so dearly that we bring you five carts full of buns for the five dozen which we took. one of these is for marquet, and, besides that, here are seven hundred thousand and three gold crowns for him, and also a deed to him and his heirs forever of one of our best apple-orchards. let us live in peace hereafter, and do you return to your own country and leave this city, to which you have no right, as you yourself know."

now, this captain touquedillon was a snakish sort of man; and when he heard honest ulrich talk he went straight to picrochole, and coiled and twisted what he had heard in such a way that poor ulrich, could he have heard it, wouldn't have known it to be his own. the snakish captain added that they had got into a trap in roche-clermaud, and that those five carts had come in the very nick of time for the starving soldiers.

"you say well," cried picrochole, "seize the buns the rascal has brought!"

"and the money?"

"seize that too!"

then captain touquedillon, without further ado, sent his men out of the gate to take the money, the buns, the oxen, and the carts.

good ulrich returned to grandgousier, and told him all these things. this made the gentle old giant very sad. he stopped telling stories of old times, and took no more pleasure in roasted chestnuts. he saw that there must be a war, and a bitter one. he ceased to talk, and was always sighing. all that he ever would say, after long hours of silence and sighs, was:—

"ho, there! has my boy gargantua come yet?"