Mathéus, who had been retarded by the steepness of the path, now rejoined his disciple.
“Good morning, good people!” cried the illustrious Doctor, raising his broad-brimmed hat. “God’s blessing be upon you!”
“Amen!” replied Hans Aden, returning with his hazel switch.
Dame Thérèse inclined her head gently, and appeared absorbed in the most delightful reveries.
For a quarter of an hour they went on without speaking; Coucou Peter walking beside the donkey, and looking at the child with pleasure, and Maître Frantz, thinking of the events that were in preparation, self-absorbed.
“Are you still going about the country as you used to go, Monsieur Coucou Peter?” asked Thérèse at length, timidly. “Do you not sometimes rest?”
“Always on the tramp, Dame Thérèse—always content! I’m like the bird that has only a branch to perch on at night, and flies away the next day to wherever there’s harvesting going on.”
“You are wrong, Monsieur Coucou Peter,” she said. “You ought to be laying up something against the time when you will be old—so worthy, so honest a man; think what it would be to fall into poverty!”
“What must be must be, Dame Thérèse. I find it enough to get my living from day to day, having nothing but my violin to live by. Besides, I’m not what you take me for to look at me; I’m a prophet! The illustrious Doctor Mathéus will tell you we’ve discovered the peregrination of souls, and are going to preach the truth to the universe.”
These words roused Maître Frantz from his reflections.