“Well, Karl,” he said, seating himself, “shall we have our game of ‘Youker’ this evening? I shall be glad of it.”
“I’m ready, Michel.”
“Imagine,” Maître Kitzig went on—“I’ve done nothing since five o’clock but listen to witnesses, and God knows if others may not be coming from the fair!”
“From the fair at Haslach?” asked the pastor, looking at Mathéus.
“Yes; pretty things have been going on there. Two scoundrels have been disturbing the population from top to bottom by their incendiary preaching. They have attacked laws, morals, and religion—even performed miracles! It’s a Court of Assize affair.”
“And if they fall into the hands of justice?”
“They won’t get out of my hands for less than twenty years at the galleys,” replied Kitzig, absorbing a pinch of snuff with the utmost indifference. “But we’ve nothing to do with that just now. Cards—and a slate!”
Never had Frantz Mathéus found himself in so terrible a position. His first impulse was to denounce himself, and to defend the doctrine in the face of nations; but at this idea his hair rose on the nape of his neck. He looked towards the door, and remained motionless.
On his side the pastor was not too much at ease. However, he had presence of mind enough to say—