The Erckmann-Chatrian MEGAPACK ®. Emile Erckmann

to the threshold of the châlet.

      “‘Farewell!’ said Walter, grasping my hand; ‘a pleasant journey; and think of us sometimes!’

      “‘I can never forget you,’ I replied, quite melancholy; ‘may your bees flourish, and may Heaven grant you are as happy as you deserve to be!’

      “‘So be it, M. Hennetius,’ said good Dame Catherine; ‘amen; a happy journey, and good health to you.’

      “I moved off.

      “They remained on the terrace until I reached the road.

      “Thrice I turned round and waved my cap, and they responded by waving their hands.

      “Good people; why cannot we meet with such every day?’

      “Little Raesel accompanied me to the foot of the mountain, as she had promised. For a long time her musical hum lightened the fatigue of my journey; I seemed to recognise her in every bee which came buzzing about my ears, and I fancied I could hear her say in a small shrill tone of voice—

      “‘Courage, M. Hennetius, courage; it is very hot, is it not? Come, let me give you a kiss; don’t be afraid; you know we are very good friends.’

      “It was only at the end of the valley that she took leave of me, when the sound of the lake drowned her gentle voice; but her idea followed me all through my journey, nor do I think it will ever leave me.”

      A FOREST BETROTHAL

      One day in the month of June, 1845, Master Zacharias’ fishing-basket was so full of salmon-trout, about three o’clock in the afternoon, that the good man was loath to take any more; for, as Pathfinder says: “We must leave some for to-morrow!” After having washed his in a stream and carefully covered them with field-sorrel and rowell, to keep them fresh; after having wound up his line and bathed his hands and face; a sense of drowsiness tempted him to take a nap in the heather. The heat was so excessive that he preferred to wait until the shadows lengthened before reclimbing the steep ascent of Bigelberg.

      Breaking his crust of bread and wetting his lips with a draught of Rikevir, he climbed down fifteen or twenty steps from the path and stretched himself on the moss-covered ground, under the shade of the pine-trees; his eyelids heavy with sleep.

      A thousand animate creatures had lived their long life of an hour, when the judge was wakened by the whistle of a bird, which sounded strange to him. He sat up to look around, and judge his surprise; the so-called bird was a young girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age; fresh, with rosy cheeks and vermilion lips, brown hair, which hung in two long tresses behind her. A short poppy-colored skirt, with a tightly-laced bodice, completed her costume. She was a young peasant, who was rapidly descending the sandy path down the side of Bigelberg, a basket poised on her head, and her arms a little sunburned, but plump, were gracefully resting on her hips.

      “Oh, what a charming bird; but she whistles well and her pretty chin, round like a peach, is sweet to look upon.”

      Mr. Zacharias was all emotion—a rush of hot blood, which made his heart beat, as it did at twenty, coursed through his veins. Blushing, he arose to his feet.

      “Good-day, my pretty one!” he said.

      The young girl stopped short—opened her big eyes and recognized him (for who did not know the dear old Judge Zacharias in that part of the country?).

      “Ah!” she said, with a bright smile, “it is Mr. Zacharias Seiler!”

      The old man approached her—he tried to speak—but all he could do was to stammer a few unintelligible words, just like a very young man—his embarrassment was so great that he completely disconcerted the young girl. At last he managed to say:

      “Where are you going through the forest at this hour, my dear child?”

      She stretched out her hand and showed him, way at the end of the valley, a forester’s house.

      “I am returning to my father’s house, the Corporal Yeri Foerster. You know him, without doubt, Monsieur le Juge.”

      “What, are you our brave Yeri’s daughter? Ah, do I know him? A very worthy man. Then you are little Charlotte of whom he has often spoken to me when he came with his official reports?”

      “Yes, Monsieur; I have just come from the town and am returning home.”

      “That is a very pretty bunch of Alpine berries you have,’” exclaimed the old man.

      She detached the bouquet from her belt and tendered it to him.

      “If it would please you, Monsieur Seiler.”

      Zacharias was touched.

      “Yes, indeed,” he said, “I will accept it, and I will accompany you home. I am anxious to see this brave Foerster again. He must be getting old by now.”

      “He is about your age, Monsieur le Juge,” said Charlotte innocently, “between fifty-five and sixty years of age.”

      This simple speech recalled the good man to his senses, and as he walked beside her be became pensive.

      What was he thinking of? Nobody could tell; but how many times, how many times has it happened that a brave and worthy man, thinking that he had fulfilled all his duties, finds that he has neglected the greatest, the most sacred, the most beautiful of all—that of love. And what it costs him to think of it when it is too late.

      Soon Mr. Zacharias and Charlotte came to the turn of the valley where the path spanned a little pond by means of a rustic bridge, and led straight to the corporal’s house. They could now see Yeri Foerster, his large felt hat decorated with a twig of heather, his calm eyes, his brown cheeks and grayish hair, seated on the stone bench near his doorway; two beautiful hunting dogs, with reddish-brown coats, lay at his feet, and the high vine arbor behind him rose to the peak of the gable roof.

      The shadows on Romelstein were lengthening and the setting sun spread its purple fringe behind the high fir-trees on Alpnach.

      The old corporal, whose eyes were as piercing as an eagle’s, recognized Monsieur Zacharias and his daughter from afar. He came toward them, lifting his felt hat respectfully.

      “Welcome, Monsieur le Juge,” he said in the frank and cordial voice of a mountaineer; “what happy circumstance has procured me the honor of a visit?”

      “Master Yeri,” replied the good man, “I am belated in your mountains. Have you a vacant corner at your table and a bed at the disposition of a friend?”

      “Ah!” cried the corporal, “if there were but one bed in the house, should it not be at the service of the best, the most honored of our ex-magistrates of Stantz? Monsieur Seiler, what an honor you confer on Yeri Foerster’s humble home.”

      “Christine, Christine! Monsieur le Juge Zacharias Seiler wishes to sleep under our roof to-night.”

      Then a little old woman, her face wrinkled like a vine leaf, but still fresh and laughing, her head crowned by a cap with wide black ribbons, appeared on the threshold and disappeared again, murmuring:

      “What? Is it possible? Monsieur le Juge!”

      “My good people,” said Mr. Zacharias, “truly you do me too much honor—I hope—”

      “Monsieur le Juge, if you forget the favors you have done to others, they remember them.”

      Charlotte placed her basket on the table, feeling very proud at having been the means of bringing so distinguished a visitor to the house. She took out the sugar, the coffee and all the little odds and ends of household provisions which she had purchased in the town. And Zacharias, gazing at her pretty profile, felt himself agitated once more, his poor old heart beat more quickly in his bosom and seemed to say to him: “This is love, Zacharias! This is love! This is love!”

      To tell you the truth, my dear friends, Mr. Seiler spent the evening with the Head Forester, Yeri Foerster, perfectly oblivious to the fact of Therese’s