What answer could we make? I said "yes"—and mother, with tears in her eyes, cried: "Jean Baptiste, is Jacob not wounded?"
"No, Madame Weber; we have always been very comfortable together. There is nothing the matter. I'll fetch him: only come in somewhere."
"We are going to the Café Hoffmann," said she. "Try to find him, Jean Baptiste." And as he was turning in the direction of the mayoralty-house:
"There," said he, "there he is coming round the corner by the chemist Rèbe's shop." And we began, to cry "Jacob!"
And our lad ran, crossing the place.
A minute after, we were in each other's arms.
He had on a coarse soldier's cloak, and canvas trousers; his cheeks were hollow; he stared at us, and stammered: "Oh, is it you? You are not all dead?"
He looked stupefied; and his mother, holding him, murmured: "It is he!"
She would not relinquish her hold upon him, and wiped her eyes with her apron.
Grédel and Jean Baptiste followed arm-in-arm, with George and Marie Anne. We entered the Café Hoffmann together; we sat round a table in the room at the left, and George ordered some coffee, for we all felt the need of a little warmth.