While he was speaking, Frantz Mathéus laid himself down at the foot of an oak, and was truly glad to be able to stretch his limbs in the midst of the heather. The crickets chirped about him. Now and then a wave broke on the pebbles with a sharp slush; he would then open his eyes, and saw Coucou Peter in the act of undressing—of taking off his boots. The sound of the torrent, the rustle of the leaves, lulled his imagination into vague reverie. Through the tufted branches of the trees he confusedly distinguished the sky, the crests of the mountains. At length his mind reposed; the same sounds fell upon his ears, but their monotony resembled deep silence. The good man distinguished them no longer—his soft and regular breathing announced a profound sleep. Then, perhaps, his mind, freed from its earthly trammels, and going back ages upon ages, wandered, in the form of a hare, through the immense forests of Gaul—perhaps, also, he saw again the humble roof of his sires at Graufthal, and good old Martha weeping for his absence. CHAPTER IX. Now the illustrious philosopher had slept for three hours when Coucou Peter cried—“Maître Frantz, wake up!—Here are the pilgrims of Haslach coming down the mountain; they outnumber the grains of sand on the seashore; get up, master, and see them!” Having raised himself, Mathéus perceived, first his disciple perched in a wild cherry-tree, gathering the fruit in the manner of the thrushes, and giving himself up heartily to the pleasure; the eyes of the good man were next directed to the neighbouring mountain. Through the tall firs, farther than the sight could reach, came an immense train of barefooted pilgrims, their shoes carried at the end of their walking-sticks, some carrying provisions, packages, flasks, and all sorts of things necessary to life. An old woman advanced alone at their head, reciting a prayer in the midst of universal silence, the others responding— “Pray for us! pray for us!” And this cry, repeated from mouth to mouth, to the tops of the rocks, on the verge of the ravines, in the hollows of the valleys, resembled the melancholy chant of flights of cranes traversing the clouds. The illustrious Doctor was so touched with the sight as to be unable to utter a word, but Coucou Peter, from the height of the tree, pointed out with his hand each village as it reached the summit of the Nideck—