The animation of the village delighted Mathéus; for above everything the good man loved country life. The perfume of grass and flowers that filled the air at the haymaking season; the big waggons standing loaded up to the garret-windows of the houses, while the oxen, resting from their work with legs outstretched to get at bundles of hay hanging on the shining points of prongs of pitchforks; the mowers reclining in the shade to refresh themselves; the regular tic-tac of the threshers; the clouds of dust escaping from the ventholes; the shouts of laughter of young girls romping in the barn; the honest faces of old men with white and bony heads stooping at the windows, cotton caps upon their bald pates; children escaping out of sight in the interior of cottages, where hanks of flax hang about large cast-iron stoves, and old women sing infants to sleep; dogs wandering about and barking at the passers; the chirping of the sparrows, disposing themselves on the roofs, or audaciously swooping down upon the sheaves in the shed—all this was life and happiness to Doctor Frantz. For a moment he thought of going back to Graufthal. Even Bruno raised his head, and pleasant cries greeted Coucou Peter all along the road. “Ha!—here’s Coucou Peter come to eat black-pudding! Now we shall have some fun! Good day, Coucou Peter!” “Good day, Karl! Good day, Heinrich! Good day, Christian—good day, good day!” He shook hands right and left; but all eyes were turned towards Mathéus, whose grave air, good cloth clothes, and big horse, shining with fat, inspired the deepest respect. “It’s a curé! It’s a minister! It’s a tooth-drawer!” they said amongst themselves. Some of them questioned Coucou Peter in whispers, but he had not time to answer their inquiries, and hastened after the Doctor. They at last reached the turn of the street, and Frantz Mathéus immediately conceived the happiest auguries on discovering the Widow Windling’s public-house. A young peasant-girl was neatly whitewashing the sides of a wooden balcony. Between two doors was to be seen a superb porker hanging upon a wooden frame, and laid open from the neck to the tail; it was white, it was red, it was washed, shaved, and cleansed; in fine, it was delightful to see. A big shepherd’s dog, with long grey hair, was lapping up a few drops of blood from the pavement. The windows were of antique form. Poplars rustled in the air. The immense boarded roof overspread the wood-store, press-house, and yard, in which a troop of pretty fowls were clucking and pecking. On the perch of a dovecot were a pair of magnificent blue pigeons, cooing and swelling out their chests. Everything, indeed, gave to Mother Windling’s house a truly hospitable physiognomy. “Hallo! hallo! hallo! You, there! Hans! Karl! Ludwig!—will you come out, you idlers?” cried the fiddler as he approached. “What! aren’t you ashamed of yourselves to leave the learned Doctor Mathéus at the door?”