ogether at a small table
near the stage, and the soldier, by liberal treats of beer, had been
induced to relate some of his adventures in the war. He was a tall,
robust man, with a large blonde mustache and an open, fearless
countenance. He talked very modestly about his own share in the
victories, and cooled Fritz's enthusiasm by the extreme plainness of
his statements.

"It was rather an uneven game at the start," he said. "They were so
few and we were so many. We couldn't have helped whipping them, even
if we had done worse than we did."

"You don't mean to say that we were not brave," responded Fritz, with
an ardor which was more than half feigned.

"No, I don't say that," said the warrior, gravely. "We were brave, and
so were they. Therefore the numbers had to decide it."

He emptied his glass and rose to go.

"No, wait a moment," urged Fritz, laying hold of his arm. "Take
another glass. You must stay and hear Germania. She is to sing 'Die
Wacht am Rhein' and 'Heil dir in Siegeskranz'."

"Very well," answered the soldier, seating himself again. "I have
furlough for to-night, and I can stay here as well as anywhere."

Two more glasses were ordered, and presently arrived.

"Listen!" began Fritz, leaning confidentially across the table. "I
suppose you have a sweetheart?"

"Yes, I have, God bless her," replied the other simply, "though I
haven't seen her these six months, and not heard from her, either. She
isn't much of a hand for writing, and, somehow, I never could get the
right crooks on the letters."

"Here's to her health," said Fritz, lifting his glass and touching it
to that of his companion.

"With all my heart," responded the latter, and drained the beer mug
at one draught.

They sat for a while in silence, Fritz trying to estimate the
pecuniary value of the audience, the soldier gazing, with a half-sad
and dreamy expression, into the dark sky.

"Curious lot, the women," broke out the junior Hahn chuckling to
himself, as if absorbed in some particularly delightful retrospect.
"There is the girl, now, who is to sing as Germania to-night,--and,
between you and me, I don't mind telling you that she is rather
smitten with me. She is as fine a specimen of a woman as ever trod in
two shoes; splendid arms, a neck like alabaster with the tiniest tinge
of red in it, and--well, I might expatiate further, but I wont. Now,
you wouldn't think it of a girl like that; but the fact is, she is as
arch and co