Hans Aden having finished his pipe, put it in his pocket, and said to his wife—
“Come, Thérèse, come; it’s time to go into the fair before it becomes too crowded.”
“Are you going with us, Maître Frantz?” inquired Coucou Peter.
“Certainly; where is Bruno?”
“In the stable; you’ve no need to take him. Dame Thérèse is going to buy all sorts of things; but for that, we should leave Schimel also.”
These explanations were enough for Mathéus; and they all set forth.
The whole town was filled with people; the waggons and cattle had been cleared away by order of the mayor. Garlands were hung from the windows, leaves and flowers were scattered in the streets, and in the market-place rose a superb altar; but what more than anything pleased the illustrious philosopher was the pleasant scent of moss and fresh-gathered flowers, and the garlands waving in the air at every movement of the breeze.
He admired also the young peasant-girls with their head-dresses and bodies dotted with glittering spangles; the old women, who were decorating the altar with vases and candlesticks, were still more magnificent, for they wore the old costume of yellow or violet flowered silk and gold-brocaded coif, the richest costume ever seen.
“Maître Frantz,” said Coucou Peter, “they worked better in the olden times. I recollect that my grandmother had a dress that had belonged to her grandmother, and that was still new; nowadays everything becomes old in four or five years.”