lus_: "Quick! a block, charcoal!.."

The fact is, the Tarasconese hero was something worth painting,--squat,
round-shouldered, head bent forward, the muffler round his chin like a
strap, and his flaming little eye taking aim at the terrified _famulus_.

Imagination, O magic power!.. He thought himself on the marketplace of
Altorf, in front of his own child, he, who had never had any; an arrow
in his bow, another in his belt to pierce the heart of the tyrant. His
conviction became so strong that it conveyed itself to others.

"'T is William Tell himself!.." said the painter, crouched on a stool
and driving his sketch with a feverish hand. "Ah! monsieur, why did I
not know you earlier? What a model you would have been for me!.."

"Really! then you see some resemblance?" said Tartarin, much flattered,
but keeping his pose.

Yes, it was just so that the artist imagined his hero.

"The head, too?"

"Oh! the head, that's no matter..." and the painter stepped back to
look at his sketch. "Yes, a virile mask, energetic, just what I
wanted--inasmuch as nobody knows anything about William Tell, who
probably never existed."

Tartarin dropped the cross-bow from stupefaction.

"_Outre!_ {*}.. Never existed!.. What is that you are saying?"

* "Outre" and "boufre" are Tarasconese oaths of mysterious
etymology.

"Ask these gentlemen..."

Astier-Rehu, solemn, his three chins in his white cravat, said: "That is
a Danish legend."

"Icelandic.." affirmed Schwanthaler, no less majestic.

"Saxo Grammaticus relates that a valiant archer named Tobe or
Paltanoke..."

"Es ist in der Vilkinasaga geschrieben..."

Both together:--

was condemned by the | dass der Islandische Koenig
King of Denmark Harold | Needing..."
of the Blue Teeth..." |

With staring eyes and arms extended, neither looking at nor
comprehending each other, they both talked at once, as if on a rostrum,
in the doctoral, despotic tones of professors certain of never being
refuted; until, getting angry, they only shouted names: "Justinger of
Berne!.. Jean of Winterthur!.."

Little by little, the discussion became general, excited, and furious
among the visitors. Umbrellas, camp-stools, and valises were brandished;
the unhappy artist, trembling for the safety of his scaffolding, went
from one to another imploring peace. When the tempest had abated, he
returned to his sketch and looked for his mysterious model, for him
whose name t