emulous movement, even so flashed
through Rudy, thoughts--powerful, overwhelming, speaking of the
happiness of his life; his, henceforth, "_constant thought_." His eyes
were fixed upon a point in the trellis-work, and this was a light in
Babette's sitting room. Rudy was so motionless, one might have thought
that he was observing a chamois, in order to shoot it. Now, however,
he was like the chamois--which appears sculptured on the rock, and
suddenly if a stone rolls, springs and flies away--thus stood Rudy,
until a thought struck him.

"Never despair," said he. "I shall make a visit to the mill, and say:
Good evening miller, good evening Babette! One does not fall when one
does not think of it! Babette must see me, if I am to be her husband!"

And Rudy laughed, was of good cheer and went to the mill; he knew what
he wanted, he wanted Babette.

The river, with its yellowish white water rolled on; the willow trees
and the lindens bowed themselves deep in the hastening water; Rudy
went along the path, and as it says in the old child's song:

---- ---- ---- Zu des Muellers Haus,
Aber da war Niemand drinnen
Nur die Katze schaute aus![B]

The house-cat stood on the step, put up her back and said: "Miau!" but
Rudy had no thoughts for her language, he knocked, no one heard, no
one opened. "Miau!" said the cat. If Rudy had been little, he would
have understood the speech of animals and known that the cat told him:
"There is no one at home!" He was obliged to cross over to the mill,
to make inquiries, and here he had news. The master of the house was
away on a journey, far away in the town of Interlaken--_inter lacus_,
"between the lakes"--as the school-master, Annette's father, had
explained, in his wisdom. Far away was the miller and Babette with
him; there was to be a shooting festival, which was to commence on
the following day and to continue for a whole week. The Swiss from all
the German cantons were to meet there.

Poor Rudy, one could well say that he had not taken the happiest time
to visit Bex; now he could return and that was what he did. He took
the road over Sion and St. Maurice, back to his own valley, back to
his own mountain, but he was not down-cast. On the following morning,
when the sun rose, his good humour had returned, in fact it had never
left him.

"Babette is in Interlaken, many a day's journey from here!" said he to
himself, "it is a long road thither, if one goes by the highway, bu