“But _I_ say, we are sure to conquer the universe! The best moment isn’t the time to choose for throwing up the game. And the place of Chief Rabbi I was promised—for you did promise it to me, Maître Frantz, you can’t deny that!” Mathéus made no reply; he had neither strength nor courage to do so; but Kasper Müller, laying his hand on the worthy fellow’s shoulder, said to him— “I have a place for you, comrade—a place that will suit you much better than that of Chief Rabbi. I have a place of cellarman vacant—forty francs a month, lodging, board, and the generosity of the customers. Eh?—what say you?” The fat round face of Coucou Peter expanded with satisfaction. “Ah, Maître Kasper, you have a way of taking people on their weak side!” “You renounce the dignity of Chief Rabbi, then?” cried the brewer. “Well—since Maître Frantz——” “No, no! you must decide the question for yourself.” “I’ faith, then,” cried Coucou Peter, rising, “long live the cellar! My proper place is there.” As soon as his disciple had renounced the doctrine, the illustrious philosopher breathed more freely; and, raising his hands, he said— “The Being of Beings has decided; His will be done!” These were his only words of regret; for, with the thought that he should return to Graufthal, a joy as great as it was complete descended to the depths of his soul—a joy which no words can describe. As much ardour as he had felt in quitting his village, he now felt to return to it. The brewer’s wife joined with Kasper Müller in representing to him that he stood in need of one or two days’ rest; but that was a thing impossible. “I must go,” he said, walking about the room; “I must go. Do not try to detain me, my dear lady; I should be distressed to refuse you anything. The destinies are accomplished! Coucou Peter, go and saddle Bruno; go, Coucou Peter, the sooner you do it the better. Ah, my dear friend, if you knew what a load you have taken from my breast! For the last two days I have hardly breathed; every step that took me farther from Graufthal has overwhelmed me with sadness. But I am going back!—thank Heaven, I am going back to it!” Maître Kasper, seeing him so decided, attempted no further to dissuade him. He went out with Coucou Peter, and helped him to saddle the horse. Maître Frantz had followed and moved round them, unable to conceal his impatience. At length, seeing that all was ready, the good man threw his arms warmly about Maître Kasper’s neck, crying— “O noble heart! worthy son of Georges Müller! I shall never forget the services you have rendered me. May the Being of Beings shed His blessings on you and on your family!” He also embraced Dame Catherine, then Coucou Peter, who sobbed. At last he was setting foot in the stirrup, with singular briskness, when he felt the tail of his coat pulled, and at the same time Coucou Peter slipped something into his pocket. “What are you doing, my friend?” asked Maître Frantz.