“No; I must go and preach at Saverne.”
“Good luck to you, then, comrade—good luck to you!”
The Nightingale also shook hands with him. The whole band then started on its way. It moved away slowly through the tall woods; pale rays illumined the horizon, rain streaked the air; the gipsies were not depressed by it, but went on laughing and talking amongst themselves.
“Good journey to you,” cried Coucou Peter.
Several turned and waved their hats; and soon all of them had disappeared in the wood.
Coucou Peter then noticed the illustrious philosopher, who was sheltering himself under the turned-down brim of his wide hat.
“Hey, Maître Frantz!” he cried; “the blessing of the Being of Beings will make us grow in strength, wisdom, and beauty.”
“Yes, my good fellow,” replied Mathéus, “every day adds new trials and new merits to our glorious enterprise.”
He said this in a tone so gentle and resigned, that Coucou Peter felt touched by it.