A fortnight was employed in visiting the forest of the Vosges, and during this time M. Ulrich came back to Heidenbruch only twice for some hours. The separation took place only on Palm Sunday, in a village of the Valley of Münster. It was evening--the hour when the valleys of the German side of the mountains were quite blue, and there was only a strip of light on the last pines which surrounded the shade. M. Ulrich Biehler had already said good-bye to this nephew, his dearest friend. The servant had taken the train that same morning for Obernai, M. Ulrich, the collar of his cloak turned up because the cold was piercing, had just whistled to Fidèle and was leaving the inn, when Jean, in his blue hunting-costume, without a hat, came down the flight of steps. "Again good-bye," he said. And as the uncle, very upset, and not wishing to show it, made a sign with his hand to avoid words which might be tremulous-- "I will go with you to the last house of the village," continued Jean. "Why, my boy, it is useless to prolong----" His head turned towards his uncle, and his uncle, looking down the road, Jean began to walk. He commenced in his cajoling young voice: "I am inexpressibly sorry to leave you, Uncle Ulrich, and I must tell you why. You understand before one says twenty words. You do not contradict aggressively: when you are not of my opinion, I know it by your mouth, which makes the point of your white beard rise--that is all. You are kind. You do not get angry, and I feel you are very decided. Other people's ideas all seem familiar to you--you are able to answer them so easily; you are respected by the weak. I was not accustomed to that on the other side of the Rhine." "Bah! bah!" "I even appreciate your fears about me." "My fears?" "Yes. Do you think that I did not see that there is another question which interests me intensely, and of which you have not spoken to me for six days?" This time Jean did not see his uncle's profile; he saw his full face, and its expression was a little anxious. "My boy, I did that purposely," said M. Ulrich. "When you questioned me, I told you what we were and what we are. And then I saw that I must not insist too much, because you would be full of grief. You see, grief is good for me; but for you, youth, it is better that you should start off like the horses which have not yet run a race, and only carry a very slight weight." The last house was passed. They were in the country, between a stream strewn with many boulders, and a steep slope which joined the forest up above. "Too late," said Jean Oberlé, holding out his hand and stopping, "too late; you have said too much, Uncle Ulrich. I feel I belong to the older times, as you do. And so much the worse, as to-morrow I go up to the Schlucht. I shall see her--I shall say good day to our country of France!" He laughed as he uttered these words. M. Ulrich shook his head once or twice to scold him, but without answering, and he went away into the mist.