es
of antiquity.

"Do I not," thought Albert, "almost feel like one who has a notion of
his dream when he wakes, but who does not recollect all its single
features till several days afterwards? Ay, a dream, and only a dream,
one would think, by flying over time and space, with its mighty wings,
could render possible, the gigantic, monstrous, unheard-of events, that
took place during the eighteen eventful days of a campaign, which mocks
the boldest thoughts, the most daring combinations of the speculative
mind. Indeed the human mind does not know its own greatness; the act
surpasses the thought. For it is not rude physical force, no! it is
the mind, which creates deeds as they have happened, and it is the
psychic power of every single person, really inspired, which attaches
itself to the wisdom and genius of the general, and helps to accomplish
the monstrous and the unexpected."

Albert was disturbed in these meditations by his groom, who kept about
twenty paces behind him, and whom he heard cry out, "Eh! Paul
Talkebarth, where the deuce do you come from?" He turned his horse,
and perceived that a horseman, who had just trotted past him, and whom
he had not particularly observed, was standing still with his groom,
beating out the cheeks of the large fox-fur cap with which his head was
covered, so that soon the well-known face of Paul Talkebarth, Colonel
Victor von S----'s old groom, was made manifest, glowing with the
finest vermilion.

Now Albert knew at once what it was that impelled him so irresistibly
from Liege to Aix-la-Chapelle, and he could not comprehend how the
thought of Victor, his most intimate and dearest friend, whom he had
every reason to suppose at Aix, merely lay dimly in his soul, and
attained nothing like distinctness. He now also cried out, "Eh! Paul
Talkebarth, whence do you come? Where is your master?"

Paul curvetted up to him very gracefully, and said, holding the palm of
his hand against the far-too-large cockade of his cap, by way of
military salutation: "Yes, 'faith, I am Paul Talkebarth indeed,
gracious lieutenant-colonel. We've bad weather here, Zermannoere (_sur
mon honneur_). But the groundsel brings that about. Old Lizzy always
used to say so. I cannot say, gracious lieutenant-colonel, if you know
Lizzy: she lives at Genthin, but if one has been at Paris, and has seen
the wild goat in the Schartinpland (_Jardin des Plantes_).--Now, what
one seeks for one finds near, and h