Then Mother Windling carefully wiped her arms on the towel that hung behind the door, took the bottle, and tripped into the principal room like a young girl.
Frantz Mathéus was seated by an open window, watching the labours of old Baumgarten’s bees, whose hive was just in front of it; broad streaks of sunlight pierced the flowering rose-trees, and the illustrious philosopher, plunged in a soft reverie, listened to the vague hum raised by the insects at the close of day.
At this moment Mother Windling entered; behind her came Coucou Peter, gaily, with three glasses in his hand.
“Make yourself comfortable, Dr. Mathéus,” he cried; “you are tired, the day is hot; give me your overcoat, and let me hang it up on this peg.”
“Yes, yes,” said the good woman; “pray make yourself quite at home. Coucou Peter has told me your name, and Doctor Mathéus is well known in this part of the country—it’s a great honour to receive you in our house.”
Mathéus, moved by a reception so flattering, raised his eyes blushingly, and replied—
“You are very good, my dear madam; I regret not having brought with me a copy of the Anthropo-Zoology, to do homage to you with it, and to show my gratitude.”
“Oh, we love men of intellect!” cried Mother Windling; “I love men of mark!”
As she spoke she looked at him with so tender an air that the good man felt quite embarrassed.