He admitted that he had heard of Annette's bereavement, but had kept out in the woods to be out of the way, as he thought there were enough sympathizers without him, and that he could not have been of any service.

My wife looked at him with surprise.

Richard told us that during the rain-storm, which had been quite heavy in the woods, he had been with Rautenkron.

The gloomy man had spoken of Ernst with great interest, and had incidentally inquired in regard to Martella. He was quite enraged that he, who never read a newspaper and did not want to have anything to do with the world, was obliged to know of this war, as one of his a.s.sistants and a forest laborer had been conscripted. He felt quite convinced, too, that Prussia would be victorious.

For a long while there was no news from the seat of war, except reports of marching and countermarching.

After that, there came a letter from the Major, who lamented the death of the Captain, and wrote in terms of admiration of the n.o.ble and composed bearing of Annette.

Richard, who, during Annette's presence, had, as far as possible, affected solitude, was now again with us almost constantly.

He spoke quite harshly of Annette, and said that she was always expressing a desire for repose and a quiet life, while at the same time she was constantly disturbing every one. She would allow no one to live in his own thoughts; her only desire was, that the thoughts and feelings of others should be the reflection of her evanescent emotions.

He thought it likely, however, that she might emerge from the refining fire of a great grief, purer and firmer than she had ever been.

"I know now," said my wife to me one evening, "why Richard went out into the woods. It was well of him."

I did not understand it, and she, in order to tease me, refused to explain. She seemed quite pleased with her secret, and I was only too happy to see her smile once again.

CHAPTER IX.

"Thank G.o.d, they have beaten us!" were the words with which Joseph entered our house the next morning, carrying an extra paper in his hand. In those words was concentrated the whole misery of those days.

"If Prussia would only march into the South German palaces! That is the only way to bring about a proper understanding."

This was the second idea that Joseph expressed.

An armistice was concluded. Bertha wished to return home at once. A letter from her husband was received, requesting her to remain at our house, and informing her that he would join her there immediately after the return of the troops.

He also informed us that he had received a letter from the widow of our Austrian cousin; her husband had lost his life at Koniggratz.

We also received news from Annette. In a few short words she informed us of her wretched journey with the corpse of him who had been all her joy, and had been sacrificed to no purpose.

The postscript contained special greetings for Richard, both from her and from his friend, a medical professor, who had introduced himself to Annette as a friend of ours, and had been of great service to her.

Sad tidings threw the village into excitement.

Carl, who had been the favorite of the whole village, had fallen. It was both sad and gratifying to hear how every one praised him. Even the taciturn meadow farmer stopped me on my way to the spinner's cottage, and said, "He was a steady young fellow."

If I had replied by asking him to contribute a stated sum for the support of the dest.i.tute widow, he would have looked at me as if I were crazy, to think of making such a suggestion to him. According to his views of life, poor people were sent into the world to starve, and the rich in order that they might eat to their heart's content and fill their iron cooking-pots with gold.

The meadow farmer was accompanied by a peasant-prince from the valley on the other side of the mountains, where the succession falls to the minor, the youngest son inheriting the estate.

It was said that the only daughter of the meadow farmer had been determined on as the wife of this young peasant. He had inherited a considerable sum in securities, and now sought a wife. Love did not enter into the question; all that was required was to keep up the name and the honor of the peasant-court; and, while a n.o.ble life cannot result from such a union, it generally proves a respectable and contented marriage.

I remembered that there had been a rumor in the village that Marie, the daughter of the meadow farmer, loved Carl.

When I drew near to the house of the spinner, I saw Funk coming out, Lerz the baker following him. I think Funk must have seen me; otherwise there could have been no reason for his remarking to his companion in quite a loud voice, "What do you think of your beggarly Prussians now?

This is their work--to kill the son of a poor widow. If he had been a prince, they would have gone into mourning, and for seven weeks would have eaten out of black bowls and with black spoons!"

It went hard with me to enter the widow's cottage, after hearing those words. The old woman, who had always been so quiet and contented, and who had never left her dwelling, unless it was to go earn her daily bread, was now quite urgent in her demands. She asked for money, so that she might go and witness the burial of her son, and know where they laid his body. She also wanted to go to the Prince, for whom her son had lost his life. She knew that she, a poor woman, had a better right to a good pension than the Captain's widow, who was a great lady.

When my wife came, the old woman said, "You are better off than I am.

Your son still lives, but mine is dead. They told me that you once said your son was more than dead. But, tell me, what does it mean to be more than dead? Ah, you do not know. The Prussian sought out the best heart of them all. He knew what he was about. Of all the thousands who say 'mother,' there was no better child than my Carl. Your Ernst is also a good lad. They were born on the same day. Don't you remember? My husband was quite tipsy when he came home that evening. He was gloriously full, and so jolly! He must have known that he was soon to be the father of such a splendid boy.

"Oh, my poor Carl! You may hunt the land through, but you will never find so handsome a lad as my Carl. He did not get his good looks from me; but his father was just as good-looking as he--nay, almost more so.

"Ah, it will be a long while before you find so pretty a fellow as Carl--one who will sit down beside his mother of a Sunday afternoon and tell her merry jokes, so that her heart may be gladdened, although his own be sad.

"Yes, go and seek another such as he!

"Don't go away, Waldfried! There is no one left with whom I can talk.

Or send Martella--to me she will do."

On our way home, my wife gently said, "His regiment was not once in battle."

This was the first intimation I had received of her careful reading of the newspapers. Ernst's regiment had not fired a single shot, and all our suffering had been to no purpose.

We sent Martella over to the spinner's cottage, where she remained all night.

On the following morning, Martella returned. She was quite joyful, and maintained that Ernst had been saved and would soon return to us.

She had arranged everything with the old spinner. The two of them would go to the Prince, and the spinner would say to him, "My son is dead!

but give me the one who was born on the same day, and wipe out all that stands against him!" Or else the spinner would say, "My tears shall wash away all the charges that stand written against him on the slate."

It went hard to make Martella understand that this plan was nothing more than an idle dream.

The battle was over, and peace had been concluded.

Although Austria was separated from Germany, there was, as yet, no real Germany. While the high contracting parties were framing the chief clauses of their treaty, the Frenchman who was looking over their shoulders took the pen in his own hand and drew a black mark across the page, and called it "the line of the Main."

The Major came home, and the joy of Bertha and her children knew no bounds. The Major, however, seemed unable to shake off a deep fit of melancholy.

He was a strict disciplinarian. He never allowed himself to say aught against his superiors or their orders; but now, he could not keep down his indignation at the manner in which the war had been conducted. When a nation really goes to war it should be in greater earnest about its work.

There was much distrust, both as to the courage and the loyalty and firmness of the leaders. While the Major's feelings as a soldier had been outraged, there were many other thoughts which suggested themselves to him as a lover of his country, and in regard to which he maintained silence.

He told us that Annette had behaved with dignity and composure when she went to receive the body of her husband. But now it was evident that she had attempted too much; that she was unwell, and would be obliged until autumn to repair to the sea-side, where her mother-in-law would be with her.

When the Major remarked that he had heard it said that in this war even slight wounds might prove fatal, because every one was so filled with mortification, on account of this unholy strife, that the very idea itself would serve to aggravate even the slightest wound, my wife exclaimed, "Yes, it is indeed so. There are wounds which are made fatal by the thoughts of those who receive them."

We all felt that she was thinking of Ernst, and remained silent.

The Major did not mention Ernst's name, nor did he inquire whether we had heard from him.