“It is cruel,” they said among themselves, “to take this poor old man’s horse from him. He’s not dishonest—see how he weeps; it’s only good-hearted people who love animals in that way!”
Several women, who had come like the others, with their children in their arms, hurried away, for they could not bear to see it.
Coucou Peter, behind Bruno, hung his head dejectedly; he accused himself of being the cause of all, and two big tears ran down his red cheeks. Dame Thérèse wept also; and as everybody was at a stand-still to prevent the landlord taking away the horse, this good little woman slipped behind Coucou Peter and put thirty francs into his hand unseen.
“Accept this, Monsieur Coucou Peter, for love of me,” she whispered.
Coucou Peter put the money into his waistcoat-pocket and sobbed more than ever; then, after a few moments, raising his head, he cried—
“Maître Jacob, I should not have thought this of you!—I should have thought you would have trusted an honest man! But since it’s as it is, here is your money—and let go this horse at once, or I’ll split your head open!”
He seized the stick again from behind the stable-door, and everybody would have been glad if he had belaboured that wretched publican.
Coucou Peter even repaid Hans Aden, casting upon Thérèse so tender a look that she felt embarrassed to the bottom of her soul; he also kissed the child which she held in her arms. Then, in a loud ringing voice, he cried—
“Forward, Maître Frantz! forward! Men are rascals!”
Mathéus mounted on horseback, Coucou Peter threw open the gate into the field, and the mayor felt at ease only after seeing them disappear in the forest of Saverne.