The birds were already warbling in the garden; some labourers, with pickaxe on shoulder, chatted as they passed the gate, their voices, at this early hour, being heard from one end of the street to the other. Milk-sellers from Dagsberg, with their large tin cans under their arms, were sitting about on neighbouring posts, and servants, short-petticoated and bare-armed, were coming one by one to buy milk for their houses. All these worthy people had a look of health pleasant to see. The servant-girls stopped to gossip about christenings, marriages, and the departure of the conscripts; and the tradespeople opened their shops and hung out their goods at their doors. Some fresh event happened every moment; then the mountain-air came down so fresh and pure, that the chest expanded with pleasure, and, as it were, breathed by itself. Maître Frantz, inspirited by this cheerful sight, began to see things from a more agreeable point of view; he was, in fact, astonished at himself for his groundless fears, for no one could possibly forbid him to teach a doctrine founded on the highest morality and the soundest logic. A very little was needed to make him seriously determined to denounce himself to the procureur; but his prudence showed him that he might, in the first place, be shut up in prison, pending inquiry into the doctrine, and this judicious reflection cooled his enthusiasm. “Frantz Mathéus,” he said to himself, “you are possessed of too great a psychological ardour. Doubtless it would be delightful to suffer persecution and martyrdom for immutable truth; it would be _very_ delightful—but what end would it serve? If you are put in prison, who will preach anthropo-zoology to the human race? It could not be done by Coucou Peter, a man with little faith, and naturally inclined to the enjoyments of the flesh. It will be better for you to go—it is wisdom that directs you! Above all, Frantz, be on your guard against your extraordinary audacity—true courage consists in conquering one’s passions!” When the illustrious philosopher had come to this moral understanding with himself, he resolved to set off at once to Strasbourg without a moment’s loss of time. Consequently he put on his wide-brimmed hat and descended on tiptoe to the hall. But, as he was passing the door of a small room under the stairs, and hesitated for an instant, not knowing whether to turn to right or left, the voice of his disciple called to him from the interior— “Who’s there?” “It is I, my friend.” “Ah! is it you, Doctor?” At the same time, Mathéus heard some one get out of bed, and Coucou Peter, in his shirt, appeared on the threshold. “What the deuce are you doing about so early?” cried the merry fiddler. “There’s good reason for it,” Mathéus replied. “You do not know what I learned yesterday, at the casino—that we are being pursued!” “Pursued!” cried Coucou Peter, pushing back his nightcap on to the nape of his neck; “pursued—by whom?” “By the gendarmes.” “For what?”