“That’s right—that’s right,” she said, taking the bottle; “I’ll go and wait upon the gentleman myself. Go, Soffayel, and put four good ladlesful of milk into the tub. Look and see whether I am tidy, Coucou Peter—is my hair out of order?” “You are as fresh as a rose, Dame Catherina.” “Do I really look so?” “Yes; and you smell like a dish of strawberries.” “Go along with your nonsense!” she cried. Then Mother Windling carefully wiped her arms on the towel that hung behind the door, took the bottle, and tripped into the principal room like a young girl. Frantz Mathéus was seated by an open window, watching the labours of old Baumgarten’s bees, whose hive was just in front of it; broad streaks of sunlight pierced the flowering rose-trees, and the illustrious philosopher, plunged in a soft reverie, listened to the vague hum raised by the insects at the close of day. At this moment Mother Windling entered; behind her came Coucou Peter, gaily, with three glasses in his hand. “Make yourself comfortable, Dr. Mathéus,” he cried; “you are tired, the day is hot; give me your overcoat, and let me hang it up on this peg.” “Yes, yes,” said the good woman; “pray make yourself quite at home. Coucou Peter has told me your name, and Doctor Mathéus is well known in this part of the country—it’s a great honour to receive you in our house.” Mathéus, moved by a reception so flattering, raised his eyes blushingly, and replied— “You are very good, my dear madam; I regret not having brought with me a copy of the _Anthropo-Zoology_, to do homage to you with it, and to show my gratitude.” “Oh, we love men of intellect!” cried Mother Windling; “_I_ love men of mark!” As she spoke she looked at him with so tender an air that the good man felt quite embarrassed. “It’s not a Tapihans, a man of no means, a miller,” she continued, “that gives me so much pleasure to serve. But only to hear the scandalous tongues of the village! A report has been spread that we are going to be married, because he comes here every evening to take his glass. Heaven preserve me from wishing for such a mere breath of a man! It’s quite enough to have been left a widow once.” “I have no doubt of it,” said Mathéus, “I have no doubt of it! Be sure that these reports have no influence on me; it would be contrary to my philosophical principles.” The fiddler then filled the glasses, crying— “Come, Dame Catherina, you must clink glasses with the Doctor. Your health, Doctor Frantz!” Mother Windling did not disdain the wolxheim; she drank the health of Doctor Mathéus like a veritable hussar. Then, without ceremony, she relieved him of his greatcoat, and, with his wide-brimmed hat, hung it upon one of the pegs on the wall.