“Dame Thérèse,” he cried, “choose whatever you like. Will you have this shawl, these ribbons, this fichu?—will you have all the shop? Don’t hesitate.” She did not want to accept anything but a simple rose-coloured ribbon, but he forced her to take a superb shawl. “Oh, Monsieur Coucou Peter,” she said, “let me have the ribbon.” “Keep both the ribbon and the shawl, Dame Thérèse! Keep them for love of me,” he cried in a low tone; “if you only knew how much pleasure it gives me!” He bought also a sugar dog for the child, then some gilt filberts, then a little drum—and indeed did not leave off buying till his ten francs were spent to the last centime. He then appeared in his glory; and when Hans Aden rejoined them, he was well pleased to see that Coucou Peter had shown such attention to his wife. As for the philosopher, the sight of this great assemblage strangely exalted him; he wished to begin to preach, and every moment exclaimed— “Coucou Peter, I think it is time to preach. Look at this crowd—what a magnificent occasion for announcing the doctrine!” “Don’t think of it, Maître Frantz—don’t think of it for a moment! Here’s the gendarme going by—he’d have you in his grip at once; none but quacks have the right of preaching in the fair.” In this way they made the circuit of the market-place three times. Dame Thérèse purchased all she needed for her housekeeping: a scrubbing-brush, some tin ladles, a slice, and other articles of a like kind; Hans Aden bought a scythe that gave a clear ringing sound, some wooden shoes, and a currycomb. Towards ten o’clock Schimel’s panniers were full of things; the crowd became more and more numerous, and raised clouds of dust; in the distance was heard the whirling waltz. In making their way towards the Three Roses, they passed by the Madame Hutte, and such sounds of gaiety fell upon their ears that tall Hans Aden himself stopped to look at the spectacle. A flag floated above the booth; girls and youths flocked to the door; the pretty dress of the Kokesbergers, with their hair-plaits decked with ribbons; that of the women of Bouren-Grédel, with their watered-silk neckties hanging down the back of the neck, their red petticoats, their well-fitting white stockings, and high-heeled shoes; the mountaineers in their broad-brimmed hats ornamented with an oak leaf; the Alsatians, in three-cornered hats, square-tailed coats, scarlet waistcoats, and short breeches, presented an admirable picture. The crowd was drawn towards this point. Dame Thérèse felt an inexpressible desire to dance; her hand trembled on the arm of Coucou Peter, who looked up at her tenderly, and whispered— “Dame Thérèse, shall we have a waltz?” “I should like it,” she murmured, “but the child—I dare not leave it; and besides—what would Hans Aden say?” “Bah!—don’t be uneasy, Dame Thérèse; a waltz is soon over. The child has nothing to fear—he’s so sound asleep!” “No, Monsieur Coucou Peter, I dare not! Hans Aden would not like it.”