“Very good!—very good!” he cried. “I’m glad to see you are quite yourself again!”
Maître Frantz at once explained to him his approaching departure.
“Well, my dear monsieur,” said the pastor, seating himself, “in spite of the great pleasure I should have felt in keeping you longer here, I cannot but approve your prudence. Kitzig would be sure to find you out, and all his affection for me would not prevent your being involved in a most unpleasant piece of business. Things being so, let us have a glass together. Gredel, here is the key of the little cellar; bring a bottle from under the firewood.”
Every one ate and drank with a good appetite. Maître Frantz was sorry to leave such worthy people; but, about six, the time had come to separate. The good man embraced the pastor; Coucou Peter kissed his wife, who shed tears at parting with the rascal. They were conducted to the yard, where Bruno was in waiting. Mathéus being mounted, the Pastor Schweitzer shook him warmly by the hand, and Gredel could not detach herself from Coucou Peter’s neck. At length they departed, amid the blessings and good wishes of the whole family.
CHAPTER XX.
Maître Frantz and his disciple passed quickly through the town. The little houses scattered along the roadsides rapidly succeeded one another, with their barns, stables, and wooden steps with washing hanging upon them—ruddy-faced children asked alms, and old inquisitive women put their nodding heads out of the upper windows. At the end of a quarter of an hour they were in the country, breathing the free air, passing between two rows of chestnut-trees, listening to the song of the birds, and thinking still of the worthy Pastor Schweitzer, by whom they had been so well received—of soft-hearted little Gredel, who had wept so freely at seeing them depart.
When the smoky roofs of Saverne and the weathercock of the church had disappeared behind the mountain, Coucou Peter at length shook off the deep reverie in which he had been indulging, and after two or three times clearing his voice, he gravely chanted the old ballad of ‘The Count of Geroldsek:’ the yellow dwarf keeping watch on the highest tower, the deliverance of the fair Itha, held captive at Haut-Bârr. There was something melancholy in Coucou Peter’s voice, for he was thinking of his little Gredel. Bruno’s step was in cadence; and to the mind of Mathéus, listening to this old language, returned dim and vague memories. After the last verse Coucou Peter took breath, and cried—
“What a jolly life these Counts of Geroldsek led!—going about the mountain, carrying off girls, fighting husbands—drinking, singing, feasting, from morning till night! What a glorious existence! The king himself wasn’t fit to be their cousin!”
“Doubtless—doubtless, the Counts of Geroldsek were great and powerful nobles,” replied Mathéus. “Their authority extended from the county of Bârr to Sûngau, and from Lower Mundat to Bassigny, in Champagne; the richest jewels, the most beautiful arms, the most magnificent hangings, belonged to their sumptuous castles in Alsace and Lorraine; the most exquisite wines filled their cellars, numerous knights rode under their banners, crowds of gentlemen and valets attended upon them in their courts—some monks also, whom they held in great esteem. Unfortunately, instead of practising anthropo-zoological virtues, these noble personages destroyed travellers on the highway; and the Being of Beings, weary of their rapine, has made them descend in the rank of animals.”