As soon as he had got the knife, he raised himself upon the hearth, and seizing a smoked sausage, as thick as his arm, hanging in the chimney, cut it in two; he then did the same with a ham, and appeared highly satisfied with his labour.
“If we are forced to take to the woods, Maître Frantz,” he said, “we’ll not be driven to eat mast like Saint Antoine.”
“Ah! it’s not you, you rogue, who will ever die of hunger!” cried his wife; “you’d pawn your breeches first!”
“How well you know me, Gredel!—how well you know me!” cried the gay fiddler, kissing her affectionately.
He then went out to put his provisions in a haversack.
“Is it really true, Doctor,” asked Gredel, as soon as he was out of hearing, “that you wish to make him Chief Rabbi of the peregrination of souls? The fact is, he has told me so many stories, that I can’t now believe anything he says.”
“Yes, my child, it is true,” said the good man; “your husband, notwithstanding his gay humour and natural lightness of character, has a good heart; I am fond of him, and he will succeed me in the government of souls.”
“Oh!” she cried, “I know that he’s a good fellow, and an honest one; but he is so light—he’s given me a deal of uneasiness, the rascal! I can’t help loving him, all the same; for he has his good side, if one can only get at it.”
“Well said—well said, my child!” said Mathéus, touched by Gredel’s naïve answer; “Coucou Peter will yet do you honour; he will be spoken of in distant ages.”
Proud at hearing this, Gredel hastened to lay the cloth in the dining-room, and Coucou Peter having again come in, they made a hearty breakfast of bread-and-butter, coffee, and steaks. Monsieur Schweitzer, hearing the clatter of glasses, came down hurriedly in his breeches, and, seeing the party at table, burst into a loud fit of laughter.