“You shall hear it, Doctor—you shall hear it, when the others are assembled,” replied Claude Wachtmann, putting his paper into the large pocket of his black coat; “it is before everybody I wish to read this remarkable work, the fruit of my studies and of my profound sorrow.” The schoolmaster’s look was august as he pronounced these words, and Frantz Mathéus felt himself turn pale. “Martha! Martha!” he murmured to himself, “what have you done? Not content with shaking my courage by your tears, you still further take advantage of my being asleep to raise the village against me!” Alas! the illustrious Doctor had not deceived himself; his perfidious servant had given the note of warning, and the report of his departure had spread far and wide. Georges Brenner, the woodman, soon made his appearance. He cast a savage look towards the Doctor’s house, and clapped himself down on the stone bench by the door; then came Christian, the thresher, every feature expressing dejection; then Katel Schmidt, the miller’s sister; then all the village, women, children, old folks, as if to a funeral. Mathéus, hidden behind his windows, shuddered on seeing the gathering storm. His first idea was to confront this ignorant crowd, entirely destitute of the simplest notions on the subject of the three kingdoms of nature—to make them blush for their narrow selfishness, by demonstrating in the most evident manner that Frantz Mathéus owed himself to the universe, and that his sublime genius could not bury itself at Graufthal without committing a terrible crime towards humankind; but afterwards his natural prudence suggested to his mind a less imposing project, though one that was quite legitimate, and requiring tact for its execution: he resolved to go softly into the kitchen, from the kitchen into the barn, then to saddle Bruno and escape by the back-door. This ingenious design made the good man smile; he pictured to himself Maître Claude’s stupefaction in thinking to catch the hare in its form when it was already trotting far away over the mountain. Hastily he put on a pair of new woollen stockings, his big brown overcoat, and his heavy riding-boots, furnished with spurs like clock-wheels; then he put on his wide-brimmed hat, which gave him a venerable appearance, and opened his door with infinite caution. But, in crossing the kitchen, he fortunately recollected the _Anthropo-Zoology_, and returned in haste to put the synopsis in his pocket. The illustrious Doctor regretted not being able to take with him the sixteen quarto volumes, but he carried in his head all the developments of that great work, as well as the notes, corollaries, references, and a mass of unpublished and curious observations, the results of his later studies. At last, after a farewell look at his cherished library, he stole, all in a tremble, into the stable, like a captive escaping from the hands of infidels.