“I must have you quite comfortable, and I see you are not at your ease. I stand on no ceremony. Come, Coucou Peter, another glass, and then I’ll go back to the kitchen to see about your supper. By-the-bye, Doctor, you must tell me what you like best—something roasted, a _fricassé_ of chicken?” “I assure you, madam,” replied Mathéus, “I have no preference.” “No, no, no; that won’t do. There must surely be something you like.” Coucou Peter gave her a wink as much as to assure her that he knew the Doctor’s favourite dish. “Very well,” cried the good woman, “we’ll contrive something.” After that she emptied her glass at a draught, smiled at Doctor Mathéus, and went out of the room, promising soon to return. Coucou Peter followed her for the purpose of getting her to prepare a dish of küchlen, of which he was very fond himself, and with which he supposed the illustrious philosopher must also be pleased. Frantz Mathéus, in delicious calm, remained by the open window. He heard Mother Windling’s voice giving orders, the bustle of the kitchen, the going and coming; he attributed this attention to the reputation which his magnificent work had already attained in the world, and congratulated himself on the generous resolution he had taken of enlightening the universe. CHAPTER VI. Night had closed in when Dame Catherina, bright, affable, and smiling, reappeared in the principal room, carrying a magnificent copper candlestick, shining like gold. The illustrious Dr. Mathéus, awaiting the arrival of the peasants, had emptied the bottle of wolxheim, and meditated a superb address, based on the judicious principles of the wise and learned Aristotle; but the entrance of Mother Windling suddenly changed the direction of his impressive and luminous ideas. She had put on her handsome large-flowered petticoat, her little red silk fichu, and her Sunday cap, with broad black ribbons spread out like the wings of a butterfly. The illustrious philosopher was dazzled; he silently contemplated the plump arms, the well-rounded bust, the bright eyes, and the truly provoking briskness of the widow. Dame Catherina speedily remarked this admiring expression in the good man’s moistened eyes, and her full rosy lips shaped themselves into a tender smile. “I’ve kept you waiting a long time, Doctor,” she said, spreading a white cloth over the table; “yes, a very long time,” she repeated, with a mellow look that penetrated to the depths of Mathéus’ bashful soul. “Take care, Frantz, take care of what you are about!” he said to himself: “remember your high mission, and do not suffer yourself to be charmed by this seductive creature.” But he felt an indescribable kind of thrill run down his spine, and dropped his eyelids in spite of himself. Dame Catherina was radiant. “How timid he is!” she said to herself; “how he blushes! Ah, if I could give him a little courage! No matter; he is still green—and he’s very well made. All will be right.”