“Nothing, Doctor, nothing; only some earnest-money my new master has given me. Now that you are no longer a prophet you’ll want money. But remember that your road is through Brumath, Wasselonne, and Saverne; you must stop at the Corne d’Abondance; and you must not let yourself be cheated by the landlords, Doctor—you are too good.” During this discourse Mathéus observed his disciple with an air of inexpressible tenderness. “Oh, Coucou Peter—Coucou Peter!” he cried, “what a man you would be if the unhappy instincts of the flesh had not such an empire over you! What goodness of heart! What natural simplicity! What a spirit of justice! You would be perfect!” They once more embraced and wept anew. At length the Doctor succeeded in getting into the saddle and rode away, repeating— “May the Being of Beings recompense you all! May He shower his benefits upon you! Farewell!” CHAPTER XXIII. Frantz Mathéus followed the directions of Coucou Peter, stopping at the different inns he had named on his route, and paying his way, as became a man who was no longer travelling in the interests of civilisation. He went by Wasselonne, Marmoutier, Saverne; and the next day reached the plain of Falberg, which slopes towards Graufthal. It was at the break of day that Maître Frantz descended the mountain; the red cock of Christina Bauner was raising his morning cry, and the good man, at this well-known sound, wept with joy. Bruno went forward at a walking pace and neighed gently, as much as to say— “Monsieur, there’s your village; don’t you recognise these little paths, these tall furze-bushes, these great trees? And, down yonder, those thatched roofs, wet with the mist of the valley? It’s your village! Ah, monsieur! how happy I am to see it again!” And the good Doctor sobbed; he had dropped the bridle on his horse’s neck and covered his face with his two hands, unable to restrain his tears. Then he moved them and gazed silently. The grey morning light, the white vapours, the moss-covered rocks, the shrubs, the odour of plants, the breeze—all spoke to his soul, and the nearer he approached the more he admired this country. Everything appeared beautiful to him, as if he had seen it for the first time—friendly, as if he had passed a thousand existences with it. “Dear Heaven,” he said, “how good you are, to allow me to see my country again—my beloved country! I did not know—in truth, I did not know—how much I loved this country; these trees, these cottages, the pretty Zinsel murmuring as it goes, the tall waving pines—I have never known till now—no, I have never known till now—how necessary all these are to my life!” The narrow path widened, turned and returned, as if to show him all the beauty of the landscape, and conduct him gently to his dwelling-place. At the end of an hour he came into the sandy high road near the wooden bridge at the beginning of the village. Bruno’s hoofs sounded on the bridge, and the excellent beast neighed in a louder tone.