Long did the illustrious philosopher, with his elbow on the pillow, picture to himself this domestic happiness; these tranquil mountain scenes, with their paths half hidden in the heather; the soft murmur of the Zinsel in its stony bed; the fisherman returning along the river’s bank, his long rod and large net on his shoulder; the poacher, moist with dew, his short gun under his arm, returning at daybreak; the woodman in his smoky hut, his axe in his waistbelt. Jean-Claude Wachtmann himself, with his little three-cornered hat and large nose, then appeared to him a privileged being of nature, enjoying immense—incalculable—happiness! while he, poor exile, without hearth or home, repulsed on all sides, having not even a stone to rest his head upon, considered himself as the most unhappy, the most outcast, of all the beings in the world! Ah! if he had not that high mission to fulfil!—if he had not been predestined from the beginning of the ages for the destruction of sophistry and prejudice! But this mission itself—what bitterness, what misfortune, what deception, had it not brought upon him! Alas! poor Mathéus! how could he accomplish it? Whither should he go on leaving the brewery? What should he do on the evening of that very day? In the midst of these thoughts the good man dressed himself, and slowly descending the stairs went into the chief dining-room. When he entered the windows were all open, the servants sprinkling and sweeping the floor. Madame Müller was filling with fruit and slices of bread the little baskets of her children, before sending them to school. It was a scene of animation which almost made him forget the difficulties of converting the universe. Moreover, Kasper Müller and Coucou Peter, seated at one of the little tables in the room, greeted him gaily, and his spirits slightly rose. “Good morning, my dear monsieur! What sort of a night have you passed?” “You are just in time for breakfast, Maître Frantz!” “Take a seat, Doctor. Catherine, this is the gentleman I told you of.” “Most happy to see you, monsieur, and to know you. My husband has told me so much that is good of you.” It was thus that the Doctor was received. He was pressed to take his seat at table, and Charlotte speedily appeared with two pots containing the coffee and hot milk. On this occasion, the illustrious philosopher had once more to remark the sensual spirit of his disciple; for as Charlotte poured out the coffee Coucou Peter cried— “Give me a great deal of coffee—I’ll tell you why.” Mathéus made a sign to him to restrain his gluttony; but that did not prevent him from calling out again— “Give me a great deal of milk—I’ll tell you why.” “Very well, monsieur—very well,” replied Charlotte, filling the cup up to the brim; then placing the coffee-pots on the table, and waiting to hear Coucou Peter’s explanation. “Well, what are you waiting for, my dear?” inquired the gay fiddler.