In a minute or two the
Ogre began to snuff to his right and left, and said he smelt child's
flesh.
"It must be this calf which has just been killed," said his wife.
"I smell child's flesh, I tell thee once more," cried the Ogre,
looking all about the room; "I smell child's flesh; there is something
going on that I do not know of."
As soon as he had spoken these words, he rose from his chair and went
towards the bed.
"Ah! madam," said he, "you thought to cheat me, did you? Wretch! thou
art old and tough thyself, or else I would eat thee up too! But come,
come, this is lucky enough; for the brats will make a nice dish for
three Ogres, who are my particular friends, and who are to dine with
me to-morrow."
He then drew them out one by one from under the bed. The poor children
fell on their knees and begged his pardon as humbly as they could; but
this Ogre was the most cruel of all Ogres, and instead of feeling any
pity, he only began to think how sweet and tender their flesh would
be; so he told his wife they would be nice morsels, if she served them
up with plenty of sauce. He then fetched a large knife, and began to
sharpen it on a long whetstone that he held in his left hand; and all
the while he came nearer and nearer to the bed. The Ogre took up one
of the children, and was going to set about cutting him to pieces; but
his wife said to him, "What in the world makes you take the trouble of
killing them to-night? Will it not be time enough to-morrow morning?"
"Hold your prating," replied the Ogre; "they will grow tender by being
kept a little while after they are killed.
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