They then looked at each other in silence, in the greatest uncertainty. The missel-thrushes called to each other from the tops of the pines; the setting sun spread its yellow hues on the foliage; the dull roar of the torrent in the valley was heard. They had remained for several minutes without exchanging a word, when Coucou Peter exclaimed— “Hark, Maître Frantz;—do you hear nothing?” “Yes, I hear voices down there,” said the good man, pointing to the valley. “And I fancy I smell smoke,” replied Coucou Peter. “Sniff, Doctor.” “I think it is so,” said the illustrious philosopher. “I’m quite sure of it now,” cried the disciple; “we are not far from a charcoal-burner’s. Which way does the wind come?—That way—forward!” They had hardly gone fifty paces in the direction indicated, before they entered a deep valley, right opposite to where a troop of gipsies were preparing their cookery on the hillside. “Hey!” cried Coucou Peter, “we shan’t want for supper, Maître Frantz—we shan’t want for supper!” They walked towards the gipsies, who were much surprised to see a man on horseback in the depth of this solitude. CHAPTER XVI. The nearer Frantz Mathéus approached the gipsies, the more he was struck by their joyous and truly philosophical appearance. It was easy to be seen that they cared little for the opinion of the world, and that they drew all their satisfaction from themselves. Some had clothes too large, others clothes much too small; there were many more rents than whole pieces in their breeches, but that did not prevent them extending their legs with a certain nobility of action, or of looking you in the face as if they had been covered with magnificent embroideries. Almost all the women had children upon their backs in a kind of bag, which they carried slung over their shoulders. They went quietly about their business; some put wood on the fire, others lit their pipes with a hot coal; others, again, emptied their pockets, filled with crusts of bread, carrots, and turnips, into the cauldron. It was exquisitely picturesque to see this halt in the midst of the woods. The blue smoke rolled in masses through the valley, and in the distance the frogs, enjoying themselves amid the duckweed, were commencing their melancholy concert. “Eat and drink, worthy people!” cried Mathéus, taking off his broad-brimmed felt and saluting them; “all the fruits of the earth are made for man. Ah! how I love to see Heaven’s creatures prosper and spread before the face of the Great Demiourgos! How I love to see them grow in strength, in wisdom, and in beauty!” The gipsies looked suspiciously at the illustrious philosopher; but hardly had they set eyes on Coucou Peter than several of them jumped up, crying— “Coucou Peter!—eh! It’s Coucou Peter come to have some of our soup!”