They crossed the hall, and the discussion between the pastor and the Jew grew more animated.
“Let us split the difference,” said one.
“You’re making game of me,” cried the other; “ten louis, not a centime more!”
Coucou Peter paused on the threshold, and Mathéus, looking over his disciple’s shoulder, saw one of those lofty rooms of old times, ornamented with oak furniture, oak panelling, vast cupboards, massive tables, the sight of which rejoiced the heart. He instantly said: “Here they eat well, drink well, and sleep well!—the blessing of the Lord rest upon all good-natured people!”
A little fat man was seated on a leathern arm-chair, his stomach filling the whole space between his chin and his legs, and good-humour showing in his rosy face. Near him was standing a tall lout in a blouse, his nose hooked, and his hair a fiery red.
“Good day, pastor!” cried the fiddler.
The little man turned and burst into loud laughter.
“Coucou Peter!” he cried. “Ha! ha! ha! where does he come from? I should have said, ‘Where is he going?’—the rascal!”
And pushing back the arm-chair, he opened his arms and endeavoured to draw Coucou Peter to his fat stomach. It was something touching to see—something like two Easter-eggs trying to embrace one another; and it brought tears into Mathéus’ eyes to witness their endeavours. At length they gave up the attempt; and Coucou Peter, turning towards Mathéus, cried—
“Pastor, I bring you the illustrious Doctor Mathéus, the best man in the world and the greatest philosopher in the universe!”