“Well, Hans, since he doesn’t want to go down, show me the way,” he said to the game warden.

“But, Mr. Burgomaster,” said the latter, “you know very well that steps are missing; we should risk breaking our necks.”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“Yes, what’s to be done?”

“Send your dog,” replied Petrus.

The shepherd whistled to his dog, showed him the stairway, urged him—­but he did not wish to take the chances any more than the others.

At this moment, a bright idea struck the rural guardsman.

“Ha!  Mr. Burgomaster,” said he, “if you should fire your gun inside.”

“Faith,” cried the other, “you’re right, we shall catch a glimpse at least.”

And without hesitating the worthy man approached the stairway and leveled his gun.

But, by the acoustic effect which I have already pointed out, the spirit, the marauder, the individual who chanced to be actually in the cistern, had heard everything.  The idea of stopping a gunshot did not strike him as amusing, for in a shrill, piercing voice he cried: 

“Stop!  Don’t fire—­I’m coming.”

Then the three functionaries looked at each other and laughed softly, and the burgomaster, leaning over the opening again, cried rudely: 

“Be quick about it, you varlet, or I’ll shoot!  Be quick about it!”

He cocked his gun, and the click seemed to hasten the ascent of the mysterious person; they heard him rolling down some stones.  Nevertheless it still took him another minute before he appeared, the cistern being at a depth of sixty feet.

What was this man doing in such deep darkness?  He must be some great criminal!  So at least thought Petrus Mauerer and his acolytes.

At last a vague form could be discerned in the dark, then slowly, by degrees, a little man, four and a half feet high at the most, frail, ragged, his face withered and yellow, his eye gleaming like a magpie’s, and his hair tangled, came out shouting: 

“By what right do you come to disturb my studies, wretched creatures?”

This grandiose apostrophe was scarcely in accord with his costume and physiognomy.  Accordingly the burgomaster indignantly replied: 

“Try to show that you’re honest, you knave, or I’ll begin by administering a correction.”

“A correction!” said the little man, leaping with anger, and drawing himself up under the nose of the burgomaster.

“Yes,” replied the other, who, nevertheless, did not fail to admire the pygmy’s courage; “if you do not answer the questions satisfactorily I am going to put to you.  I am the burgomaster of Hirschwiller; here are the rural guard, the shepherd and his dog.  We are stronger than you—­be wise and tell me peaceably who you are, what you are doing here, and why you do not dare to appear in broad daylight.  Then we shall see what’s to be done with you.”

“All that’s none of your business,” replied the little man in his cracked voice.  “I shall not answer.”