When Mathéus had improvised this discourse, Coucou Peter looked at him with one eye cunningly closed, and said—
“Very good—very good; you’ve only to talk to peasants in that fashion, and all will be right.”
“You believe, then, in the peregrination of souls?”
“Yes, yes! We shall swamp all the preachers in the country; there’s not one of them able to speak so long as you without taking breath; others have to blow their noses or to cough now and then to pick up the thread of their discourse; but you—right on you go! It’s magnificent! magnificent!”
By this time they had arrived at the crossing of the Three Springs, and Doctor Mathéus stopped—
“Here are three paths,” he said. “Providence, which ceaselessly watches over the fate of great men, will point out to us the one we ought to follow, and will inspire us with a resolution, the consequences of which, for the progress of enlightenment and civilisation, are incalculable.”
“You’re not wrong, illustrious Doctor Frantz,” said Coucou Peter; “Providence has just whispered in my ear that to-day is Saint Boniface’s day—the day when Mother Windling, the widow of Windling, the public-house-keeper of Oberbronn, every year kills a fat pig; we shall arrive in the nick of time for black-pudding and foaming beer.”
“But we shall not be able to commence our preaching!” cried Mathéus, scandalised at the sensual tendencies of his disciple.
“On the contrary, all will go well together. Mother Windling’s public-house will be full of company, and we’ll begin to preach at once.”