In making their way towards the Three Roses, they passed by the Madame Hutte, and such sounds of gaiety fell upon their ears that tall Hans Aden himself stopped to look at the spectacle.
A flag floated above the booth; girls and youths flocked to the door; the pretty dress of the Kokesbergers, with their hair-plaits decked with ribbons; that of the women of Bouren-Grédel, with their watered-silk neckties hanging down the back of the neck, their red petticoats, their well-fitting white stockings, and high-heeled shoes; the mountaineers in their broad-brimmed hats ornamented with an oak leaf; the Alsatians, in three-cornered hats, square-tailed coats, scarlet waistcoats, and short breeches, presented an admirable picture. The crowd was drawn towards this point.
Dame Thérèse felt an inexpressible desire to dance; her hand trembled on the arm of Coucou Peter, who looked up at her tenderly, and whispered—
“Dame Thérèse, shall we have a waltz?”
“I should like it,” she murmured, “but the child—I dare not leave it; and besides—what would Hans Aden say?”
“Bah!—don’t be uneasy, Dame Thérèse; a waltz is soon over. The child has nothing to fear—he’s so sound asleep!”
“No, Monsieur Coucou Peter, I dare not! Hans Aden would not like it.”
They were discussing the matter in this manner, and Dame Thérèse would have given way perhaps, when the church-bells began to ring, and it was no longer to be thought of.
“Thérèse,” said Hans Aden, “there’s the third stroke; let us get back to the public-house, or we shall be late.”
“No need for that, Monsieur Mayor,” replied Coucou Peter; “you can go from here. I’ll take Schimel back, and we’ll wait dinner for you.—You’ll do us the favour to accept dinner, Maître Hans Aden and Dame Thérèse?”