Fantasy fiction, French -- Translations into English; Paranormal fiction, French -- Translations into English
"But just tell me, master, how is it that you are here to-night, at six
leagues' distance from Saverne, in the gorge of Nideck?"
"The gorge of Nideck!" cried my uncle Bernard, springing from his seat in
great surprise.
"To be sure! You may see the ruins from here, about two gunshots
distant."
Master Bernard looked out, and really did recognise the ruins of Nideck,
just as he had described them in the twenty-fourth chapter of his
_History of Alsacian Antiquities_, with their high towers crumbling away
at the foot, and dominating over the abyss into which the torrent falls.
"But I thought I was near Haslach!" he cried with amazement.
The woodcutter burst out laughing.
"Haslach!--you are two leagues away from it! I see how it is. You went
wrong at the old oak-tree. You took the right instead of the left path.
When you are in the woods you must look well about you. A few yards wrong
at starting come to leagues at the end!"
Bernard Hertzog at this discovery was in consternation.
"Six leagues from Saverne," he murmured, "and all mountains!--and if I
have to go two more to-morrow, that will be eight!"
"Oh, don't mind that! I will guide you to the road down the valley. And
don't forget. You are very fortunate."
"Fortunate? You are joking with me, Christian."
"Yes, you are lucky. You might have had to spend the night in the woods.
There is a thunderstorm coming on from Schneeberg; if that had overtaken
you you might have had some reason to complain, with the rain at your
back and thunder and lightning all round. But now you shall sleep in a
good bed," pointing to the box in the corner; "you will sleep there like
a log, and to-morrow, when the sun is up, we will start; you will be
rested, and you will get there in very good time."
"You are very kind, Christian," said Uncle Bernard with tears in his
eyes. "Give me a potato, and then I will go to bed. I am more tired than
anything else. I am not hungry. One hot potato will be quite enough for
me."
"Here is a couple as mealy as chestnuts. Taste that, master; take a small
glass of kirschwasser, and then lie down. I have to set to work again. I
have got to saw fifteen more planks before I can go to bed."
Christian rose, set the bottle of kirschwasser on the window-sill, and
went out. The alternate movement of the saw, which had for a time ceased,
now recommenced amidst the rushing of the stream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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