Maitre Hertzog, astonished as he was to find himself in those remote
solitudes between Dagsberg and the ruins of Nideck, sat long meditating
what he must do to rejoin his household gods; then, gliding down the
stream of his usual meditations, he went over the fabulous, heroic, or
barbarous legends and chronicles of the former lords of that land. He
went back to the Tribocci, that German nation settled about Strasbourg,
remembering Clovis, Chilperic, Theodoric, Dagobert, the furious struggle
between Brunehaut, Queen of Austrasia, and Fredegonde, queen of Chilperic
of France, and many heroes and heroines besides. All these fierce
personages passed in review before his eyes. The vague murmuring of the
trees, the inky blackness of the rocks, favoured this strange invocation.
All the distinguished personages of his chronicle were there, and the
boar, and the wolf, and the bear were among them.
At last, unable to hold out any longer, the good man hung his
three-cornered hat upon a peg in the wall and lay down upon the heath.
The cricket sang its monotonous song upon the hearth, a few surviving
sparks were running hither and thither in the smouldering fire, his
eyelids dropped, and he slept a deep, sound sleep.
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