LITMIR.BIZ

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returns send him in.’

      ‘He is tending the cows, grandfather, shall I call him?’

      ‘No, an hour hence will do.’

      Every word reached me distinctly. Outside dogs barked, hens cackled, the leaves rustled gently in the breeze; everything was cheerful, fresh, and green.

      I placed my knapsack upon the table and sat down thinking of the happiness of living in such a place without any care beyond the daily work.

      ‘What a life!’ I thought. ‘One can breathe freely here. This old Frantz is as tough as an oak notwithstanding his seventy years. And what a charming little girl his granddaughter is!’

      I had scarcely finished these reflections when the old man, clad in his knitted vest and his iron-tipped sabots, came in laughing, and cried out: ‘Here I am. I have finished my morning’s work. I was up and about before you, sir; at four o’clock I had gone my round of the felled timber. Now we are going to rest ourselves, you and I; take a quiet glass and smoke another pipe – pipes again! But tell me, do you wish to change? You can go up to my room.’

      ‘Thank you, Père Frantz, I have need of nothing but a little rest.’

      This title of Père Frantz appeared to please the old man; his cheeks betrayed a smile.

      ‘’Tis true that my name is Frantz,’ he said, ‘and I am old enough to be your father – ay, your grandfather. But may I ask your age?’

      ‘I am nearly twenty-two.’

      At this moment the little Louise entered, carrying a flask of white wine in one hand, and in the other some cheese, upon a beautiful specimen of Delft ware, ornamented with red flowers. Frantz ceased to speak as she came in, thinking, perhaps, it is better to hold his tongue about age in the presence of his granddaughter.

      Louise was about sixteen years of age; she was fair as an ear of corn, of good height and figure. Her forehead was high, her eyes were blue, her nose straight, with a tendency to turn up at the end, with delicate nostrils; her curving lips were as fresh as two cherries, and she was shy and retiring. She wore a dress of blue cloth striped with white, braced-up Hundsrück fashion. The sleeves of her dress scarcely descended below the elbow, and left her round arms displayed, though somewhat burnt by exposure in the open air. One cannot imagine a creature more soft and gentle or more artless, and I am persuaded that the maidens of Berlin, Vienna, or elsewhere, would have lost by the comparison.

      Père Frantz, seated at the end of the table, appeared very proud of her. Louise placed the cheese and the flask upon the table without a word. I was quite silent – dreaming. Louise having left the room, quickly returned with two plates, beautifully clean, and two knives. She then appeared about to leave us, but her grandfather, raising his voice, said: ‘Remain here, Louise; remain here, or they will say you are afraid to meet this youth. He is a fine young fellow too. Ha! what is your name? I never thought of asking your before.’

      ‘My name is Théodore Richter.’

      ‘Well, then, Monsieur Théodore, if you feel so disposed, help yourself.’

      He attacked the cheese as he spoke. Louise sat down timidly near the stove, sending now and then a quick glance in our direction.

      ‘Yes, he is a painter,’ continued old Honeck, as he went on eating; ‘and if you would not mind our seeing your pictures it will give us great pleasure, will it not, Louise?’

      ‘Oh, yes, grandfather,’ she replied; ‘I have never seen any.’

      For some moments I had been cogitating how best I could propose to remain in the neighbourhood and study the environs, but I did not know how to broach this delicate subject. Here was now the opportunity ready made.

      ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I desire no better, but I warn you I have nothing very first-rate. I have only sketches, and it will take me a fortnight at least to complete them. There is no painting, only drawing, as yet.’

      ‘Never mind, monsieur; let us see what you have got.’

      ‘With great pleasure,’ I said as I unfastened my knapsack. ‘I will first show you the neighbourhood of Pirmasens, but what is that to be compared to your mountains? Your Valdhorn, your Krapenfelz, those are what I should like to paint; those are scenes and landscapes!’

      Père Honeck made no immediate reply to this. He took gravely the picture I handed to him, the high tower, the new temple, and a background of mountains. I had finished this in water-colours.

      The good man having studied this for a few minutes with arched brows and open mouth, selecting the best light by the window, said gravely: ‘That is splendid – capital; that’s right!’

      He appeared quite affected by it.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s the place; that’s well done; one can recognise it all. Louise, come here, look at that. Wait, take it this side; is not that the old market itself, with the old fruiterer, Catherine, in the corner? And the grocer Froelig’s house, and there is the church porch and the baker’s shop. They are all there – nothing is wanting. Those blue mountains behind are near Altenberg. I can see them almost. Capital!’

      Louise, leaning upon the old man’s shoulder, appeared quite wonder-stricken. She said not a word. But when her grandfather asked: ‘What do you think of that, Louise?’

      ‘I think as you do, grandfather; it is beautiful,’ she replied in a low voice.

      ‘Yes,’ exclaimed the old man, turning to me, and looking me full in the face. ‘I did not think you had it in you. I said to myself, “Here is a young fellow walking about for amusement.” Now I see you do know something. But mind, it is easier to paint houses and churches than woods. In your place I should stick to houses! Since you have begun I should go on if I were you: that’s certain.’

      Then smiling at the ingenuous old man, I showed him a little sketch I had finished at Hornbach – a sunrise on the outskirts of the Howald. If the former had pleased him this threw him into ecstasies. After the lapse of a moment he raised his eyes and exclaimed: ‘Did you do that? It is marvellous – a miracle! There is the sun behind the trees; we can recognise the trees, too, and there are birch, beech, and oak. Well, Master Théodore, if you have done that I admire you.’

      ‘And suppose I were to suggest, Père Frantz,’ I said, ‘to remain here for a few days – and pay my way, of course – to look about me and paint a bit, would you turn me out of doors?’

      A bright blush crossed the old keeper’s face.

      ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘you are a good lad; you want to see the country – a most beautiful country it is, too, and I should think myself a brute to refuse you. You shall share our table, eggs, milk, cheese, a hare on occasion; you shall have the room we keep for the ranger, who will not visit us this year; but as for payment, I cannot take your money. No; I will not take a farthing. Besides, I am not an innkeeper – yet—’

      Here the good man paused.

      ‘Yet,’ he continued, ‘you might, perhaps – after all, I do not like to ask; it is too much.’

      He glanced at Louise, blushing more and more, and at length said: ‘That child yonder, monsieur. Is she difficult to paint?’

      Louise at these words quite lost countenance.

      ‘Oh, grandfather!’ she stammered.

      ‘Wait a bit,’ cried the good man; ‘don’t imagine I am asking for anything very grand – not a bit; a bit of paper will do as big as my hand only. Look you, Louise, in thirty or forty years, when you have grown grey, you will be glad to have something like your young self to look at. I will not hide from you, Monsieur Théodore, that if I could see myself in uniform once again, helmet on my head, and my sword in my hand, I should be too delighted.’

      ‘Is that all?’ I exclaimed; ‘that’s easy enough, I am sure.’

      ‘You

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