When Coucou Peter led Schimel to the stable, Mathéus, fatigued with walking about in the fair, entered the public-house. The illustrious philosopher was far from expecting the magnificent picture that met his view: from one end to the other of the principal room stretched a table covered with a cloth of white linen with a red border; more than forty covers were laid, and each cover had its clean stiff finger-napkin, folded in the shape of a boat or of a mitre; they all looked almost new, and as if they had just been taken from the linen-press. Besides these, each cover had its bottle of sound Alsace wine; and at regular intervals large water-bottles, transparent as crystal, reflected the windows, the sky, and the surrounding objects. Add to this, that the floor, washed overnight, was sprinkled with fine sand; that the air freely circulated through the half-open windows; that the smell of roast meat came in puffs from a small window opening into the kitchen; that the clinking of plates and dishes, the “tic-tac” of the roasting-jack, the crackling of the fire on the hearth, all combined to announce a great feast at thirty sous a head; and you may imagine with what pleasure Maître Frantz seated himself by one of the small tables, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and awaited the hour of dinner. Not a soul disturbed the quiet of the dining-room, for it was well known that the Three Roses would have a great crowd of guests on that solemn day, and that nobody would receive any attention who went there merely for a mug or two of wine. For some time the illustrious philosopher gave himself up to the enjoyment of this delightful repose; he then drew from his coat-pocket the Synopsis of his _Anthropo-Zoology_, and began to search for a text worthy of the occasion. Now, Mother Jacob, who had heard the door open, looked through the little window from the kitchen, and seeing a grave-looking man reading a book, remained for a moment contemplating him; she then made a sign to her fat servant Orchel to come to her, and pointing to the illustrious philosopher, seated with his elbow on the window-ledge in a meditative posture, asked her if he didn’t resemble the old curé Zacharias, who had died five years before. Orchel declared it was himself. Little Katel, who was at the moment attending to the dripping-pan, flew to see what was going on; she could hardly repress a cry of surprise. There was a great flutter in the kitchen; each by turn peered through the little window, and murmured: “It’s him!”—“It’s not him!” At length Mother Jacob, having looked at him very attentively, told Katel to go and mind her dripping-pan, and, smoothing her grey hair under her cap, went into the dining-room. The illustrious philosopher was so absorbed that he did not hear the door open, and Mother Jacob was obliged to ask him what he desired, to attract his attention.