The narrow path widened, turned and returned, as if to show him all the beauty of the landscape, and conduct him gently to his dwelling-place. At the end of an hour he came into the sandy high road near the wooden bridge at the beginning of the village. Bruno’s hoofs sounded on the bridge, and the excellent beast neighed in a louder tone.
Graufthal was still sleeping; only the red cock of Christina Bauner redoubled his crowing. Mathéus looked at the little windows, the wide hanging roofs, the skylights stuffed with wisps of straw, the gratings of the cellars. What an agreeable freshness came from the river! New life already circulated in the good man’s veins. At last, he was before his own door; he alighted, cast a glance through the palings of his little garden, and saw the dew pearling the magnificent heads of his cabbages. How fresh, calm, and silent was everything!
He tapped on the window-shutter—waited. Bruno neighed. What would be the result? He listened; somebody was crossing the room—the shutter-bar was raised—the heart of Maître Frantz galloped! The shutter was pushed open—and Martha—good old Martha—in her nightcap, leaned out.
“Ah, good heavens! It’s the Doctor! Ah!—is it possible?”
And quickly—very quickly—the good woman hastened to open the door.
Mathéus, seated on the bench by the door of his cottage, wept like the Prodigal Son.
THE END.
Printed by Jas. Wade, 18, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, W.C.
WELL-TIMED SERIES
Of Select Illustrated Three-and-Sixpenny Volumes.