Mathéus replied—
“In all times prophets have been furnished with victuals and drink in the houses of their hosts, who considered themselves fortunate in being able to entertain them; and when their doors have been closed against them, they have shaken the dust from their feet and betaken themselves elsewhere. And I say that such obdurate-hearted men are greatly to be pitied: it would have been better for them never to have come into the world, since they do nothing but pain us by the sight of their iniquities.”
In spite of this eloquent address, neither the mayor nor Jacob Fischer appeared to be convinced; on the contrary, the publican repeated the items of his bill: so much for the horse, so much for the illustrious philosopher and his disciple, so much for their guests; in all, seventeen francs.
The mayor, seeing that the clamour was increasing, said—
“Jacob, take the horse and retain it as security. They’ll have to go on foot, that’s all.”
The landlord instantly snatched the bridle from Mathéus’s hands, and the good man, who was quite unprepared for the shock, nearly fell to the ground; but he clung to Bruno’s neck, and enfolding it in his arms sobbed like a child.
“Bruno!—my poor Bruno!” he cried. “They wish to separate you from me—you, the companion of my toils—you, my best, my only friend! Oh, do not be so cruel! Bruno! my poor Bruno! what will become of you, far from your master? They will ill-treat you—they will care nothing for your long services!”
The tears of the white-headed old man moved all the beholders.