one of these leaned an object, so still that it might have been mistaken for a tree-stump, but it was Rudy, who was as still and quiet as everything about him; he was not asleep, and he certainly was not dead. But thoughts were rushing through his brain, thoughts mighty and overwhelming, which were to mould his future.
His eyes were directed to one point amidst the leaves, one light in the miller’s parlour where Babette lived. So still was Rudy standing, that you might believe he was taking aim at a chamois, for the chamois will sometimes stand for an instant as if a part of the rock, and then suddenly, startled by the rolling of a stone, will spring away; and so it was with Rudy—a sudden thought startled him.
THE PARLOUR CAT STOOD ON THE STEPS.“Never give up!” he cried. “Call at the mill! Good evening to the miller, good day to Babette. A man doesn’t fall when he doesn’t think about it; Babette must see me at some time if I am ever to be her husband.”
Rudy laughed, for he was of good cheer, and he went to the mill; he knew well enough what he wished for—he wished for Babette.
The river, with its yellowish water, rushed along, and the willows and limes overhung its banks; Rudy went up the path, and as it says in the old children’s song:
But found no one at home
Except little Puss!”
The parlour cat stood on the steps, put up his back, and said “Miou!” but Rudy had no thought for that speech; he knocked at the door; no one heard, no one opened it. “Miou!” said the cat. If Rudy had been little, he would have understood animals’ language, and known that the cat said: “There’s no one at home!” So he went over to the mill to ask, and there he got the information. The master had gone on a journey, as far as the town of Interlaken, “inter lacus, between the lakes,” as the school-master, Annette’s father, had explained it in a lesson. The miller was far away, and Babette with him; there was a grand shooting competition—it began to-morrow, and went on for eight days. Switzers from all the German cantons would be there.
Unlucky Rudy, you might say, this was not a fortunate time to come to Bex; so he turned and marched above St. Maurice and Sion to his own valley and his own mountains; but he was not disheartened. The sun rose next morning, but his spirits were already high, for they had never set.
“Babette is at Interlaken, many days’ journey from hence,” he said to himself. “It is a long way there if one goes by the high road, but it is not so far if you strike across the mountains, as I have often done in chamois-hunting. There is my old home, where I lived when little with my grandfather; and the shooting-match is at Interlaken! I will be the best of them; and I will be with Babette, when I have made acquaintance with her.”
With his light knapsack, containing his Sunday suit and his gun and game-bag, Rudy went up the mountain by the short way, which was, however, pretty long; but the shooting-match only began that day and was to last over a week, and all that time, he was told, the miller and Babette would spend with their relations at Interlaken. So Kudy crossed the Gemmi, meaning to come down near Grindelwald.
Healthy and joyful, he stepped along, up in the fresh, the light, the invigorating mountain air.
