Notwithstanding his mental excitement, Maître Frantz saw clearly what was going on around him; the sight of men of the law in black robes, walking in front of the Courthouse, made him thoughtful; and when on the Place de la Licorne, a kind of sergent-de-ville, in a large flap hat and with a stick under his arm, looked after them, the hare-like nature of the illustrious philosopher at once revealed itself, and he remembered that he had no passport. Fortunately they had reached the Rue des Capucins, and found themselves in front of the parsonage.
“Halt!” cried Coucou Peter; “here’s our inn!”
“Heaven be thanked!” said Mathéus; “we’ve had a long trot to-day.”
He alighted from the saddle, and Coucou Peter, without the least hesitation, led the horse to the stable.
At that moment the voice of the Pastor Schweitzer was heard inside the house, exclaiming—
“Twelve louis!—twelve louis! You have lost your senses, Salomon; a thin cow, not even fresh in milk.”
“I’ve been offered as much for her, Monsieur Schweitzer.”
“Take it, then, take it, my boy—and thank you for giving me the preference.”
“Does the pastor deal in cattle?” asked Mathéus.
“He deals a little in everything,” replied Coucou Peter, smiling; “he’s so worthy a man—you’ll see.”