The arrival of the Procureur Kitzig interrupted this agreeable conversation. He was one of Pastor Schweitzer’s old comrades of the University of Strasbourg, and every day they played together a game of “Youker.” Fashionable society laughed at the vulgar manners of Procureur Kitzig, who did not know how properly to keep up his rank, and talked familiarly with anybody he happened to meet. Nobody ventured to do this to his face, however. Maître Kitzig occupied a high position at Saverne. Besides, who could be sure that at some time or other he might not have some little business or other with Monsieur le Procureur? Everybody, therefore, smiled on Monsieur le Procureur, who replied by a nod or a few significant words. “You are very good, Monsieur le Procureur. You are too kind, Monsieur le Procureur.” “Ha! ha! ha! What a farce!” whispered the pastor in Mathéus’s ear; “what a farce! Have you ever seen anything like it at Graufthal?” But the illustrious philosopher made no answer. He had recognised in Maître Kitzig an individual of the canine race, for whom hares feel a very singular veneration. At the end of a few moments Monsieur le Procureur joined his friend Schweitzer, shook hands with him, and bowed to Mathéus. “Well, Karl,” he said, seating himself, “shall we have our game of ‘Youker’ this evening? I shall be glad of it.” “I’m ready, Michel.” “Imagine,” Maître Kitzig went on—“I’ve done nothing since five o’clock but listen to witnesses, and God knows if others may not be coming from the fair!” “From the fair at Haslach?” asked the pastor, looking at Mathéus. “Yes; pretty things have been going on there. Two scoundrels have been disturbing the population from top to bottom by their incendiary preaching. They have attacked laws, morals, and religion—even performed miracles! It’s a Court of Assize affair.” “And if they fall into the hands of justice?” “They won’t get out of my hands for less than twenty years at the galleys,” replied Kitzig, absorbing a pinch of snuff with the utmost indifference. “But we’ve nothing to do with that just now. Cards—and a slate!” Never had Frantz Mathéus found himself in so terrible a position. His first impulse was to denounce himself, and to defend the doctrine in the face of nations; but at this idea his hair rose on the nape of his neck. He looked towards the door, and remained motionless. On his side the pastor was not too much at ease. However, he had presence of mind enough to say— “Allow me to present to you Doctor Mathéus, of Graufthal, returning from the Scientific Congress at Bâle.” “Ah!” said the procureur, shuffling the cards. “On his way back to Graufthal—he must have passed through Haslach, then?” Maître Frantz thought he should have fallen backwards; but fortunately his tongue, so to speak, rejoined of its own accord— “Pardon me, Monsieur le Procureur,” he said—“I came by way of Molsheim.”