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 uneasiness, to his promise to return before seven o’clock, to all his old habits of order and submission.
Picture to yourself the large room, the time-browned rafters of the ceiling, the windows opened on the silent valley, the round table in the middle of the room, covered with a white cloth, with red stripes running through it; the light from the lamp, bringing out more clearly the grave faces of Zacharias and Yeri, the rosy, laughing features of Charlotte, and Dame Christine’s little cap, with long fluttering streamers. Picture to yourself the soup-tureen, with gayly-flowered bowl, from which arose an appetising odor, the dish of trout garnished with parsley, the plates filled with fruits and little meal cakes as yellow as gold; then worthy Father Zacharias, handing first one and then the other of the plates of fruit and cakes to Charlotte, who lowered her eyes, frightened at the old man’s compliments and tender speeches.
Yeri was quite puffed up at his praise, but Dame Christine said: “Ah, Monsieur le Juge! You are too good. You do not know how much trouble this little girl gives us, or how headstrong she is when she wants anything. You will spoil her with so many compliments.”
To which speech Mr. Zacharias made reply:
“Dame Christine, you possess a treasure! Mademoiselle Charlotte merits all the good I have said of her.”
Then Master Yeri, raising his glass, cried out: “Let us drink to the health of our good and venerated Judge Zacharias Seiler!”
The toast was drunk with a will.
Just then the clock, in its hoarse voice, struck the hour of eleven. Out of doors there was the great silence of the forest, the grasshopper’s last cry, the vague murmur of the river. As the hour sounded, they rose, preparatory to retiring. How fresh and agile he felt! With what ardor, had he dared, would he not have pressed a kiss upon Charlotte’s little hand! Oh, but he must not think of that now! Later on, perhaps!
“Come, Master Yeri,” he said, “it is bedtime. Good-night, and many thanks for your hospitality.”
“At what hour do you wish to rise, Monsieur?” asked Christine.
“Oh!” he replied gazing at Charlotte, “I am an early bird. I do not feel my age, though perhaps you might not think so. I rise at five o’clock.”
“Like me, Monsieur Seiler,” cried the Head Forester. I rise before daybreak; but I must confess it is tiresome all the same—we are no longer young. Ha! Ha!”
“Bah! I have never had anything ail me, Master Forester; I have never been more vigorous or more nimble.”
And suiting his actions to his words, he ran briskly up the steep steps of the staircase. Really Mr. Zacharias was no more than twenty; but his twenty years lasted about twenty minutes, and once nestled in the large canopied bed, with the covers drawn up to his chin and his handkerchief tied around his head, in lieu of a nightcap, he said to himself:
“Sleep Zacharias! Sleep! You have great need of rest; you are very tired.”
And
