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Page 81
In one of those moments when the good man, getting exhausted, was
stopping for breath, he thought he could hear the grating of a saw far
down the valley. What was his joy when he became certain that it was
that!
"Heaven be praised!" he cried, plucking up his spirits; "now to push on
with halting steps. Now I shall get a little rest. What a lesson this
will be for me! Providence had compassion upon my rheumatism. What an
old fool to go and expose myself to have to lie out in the woods at my
time of life, to ruin my health and undermine my constitution! I shall
remember this! Never shall I forget this warning!"
In a quarter of an hour the noise of falling water became more distinct;
then a faint light broke through the trees. Ma�tre Bernard then found
himself at the top of the wood; he observed below the heath a stream
running down the winding valley as far as he could see, and just before
him the saw-mill, with its long dark posts and beams crossing and
recrossing in the gloom like a huge spider.
He crossed the high-arched bridge over the rushing dam, and looked
through the little window into the woodman's hut.
It was a low, dark shed leaning against a hollow in the rock. At the
farther end of the natural cavity was a small pile of smouldering
sawdust. In the front the boarded roof, weighted with heavy stones,
descended to within three feet of the ground; in a corner at the right,
a kind of box, full of dried heather; a few logs of oak, an axe, a
massive bench, and other implements of toil, were lost in the shade.
A resinous odour of pine-wood impregnated the air, and the ruddy smoke
eddied through a fissure in the rock.
Whilst the good man was observing these objects, the woodman, coming out
from the mill, saw him, and cried--
"Halloo!--who is that?"
"I beg your pardon; pray pardon me," said my worthy uncle, rather
startled. "I am a traveller who has lost his way."
"Hey!" cried the other man; "good guide us! Is not that Ma�tre Bernard,
of Saverne? You are very welcome indeed, Ma�tre Bernard. Don't you know
me?"
"No, indeed! How should I in this dark night?"
"_Parbleu!_--of course not! But I am Christian; I bring you your
contraband snuff every fortnight. But come in, come in! We will soon get
a light."
They passed stooping under the little low door, and the woodman, having
lighted a pine-torch, stuck it into a split iron rod to serve as a
candlestick, and a bright light, clear and white as moonshine, filled the
hut, lighting up every corner of it.
Christian, standing in shirt-sleeves, his broad chest uncovered, and
with a pair of canvas trousers hitched up about his hips, looked a
good-natured fellow enough; his tawny beard came down in a point to his
waist; his huge bull head was covered with bristling brown hair; his
small grey eyes inspired confidence.
"Take a seat, master," he said, rolling a log of wood before the fire.
"Are you hungry?"
"Why, you know, my lad, your mountain air does excite one's appetite."
"Very well; you are just in time. I have got some very good potatoes
quite at your service."
At the mention of potatoes Uncle Bernard could not help grimacing; he
remembered, with the longing of affection, old Berbel's good suppers, and
had a difficulty in coming down to the humble realities before him.
Christian seemed to take no notice; he took five or six potatoes out of
a sack, and put them into the embers, taking care to cover them entirely;
then, sitting down on the hearthstone, he lighted his pipe.
"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.
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