ad been killed, and he had rallied what remained of
the men, continuing the fight until they were nearly all disabled and
shot down, that any recognition of his bravery was afforded him. Then he
was summoned to the general's presence. He had been wounded in the arm,
and was still weak from loss of blood.

"Your conduct has been reported to me," said the general, who, being a
brave man himself, could recognise courage in others. "I can only regret
that your efforts were not rewarded with success. I am proud to offer
you a commission in the regiment you have served so well. I know of no
man who has a better right to it."

Max saluted.

"Pardon me, general," he said respectfully, but firmly, "but--but, with
your permission, I must decline the honour."

"Decline the honour!" cried the other in surprise, and also with some
asperity. "What do you mean? Surely you understand the honour that has
been done you?"

"I understand perfectly," Max replied. "Yet I would prefer to remain as
I am."

Whatever the general's thoughts may have been, it is certain that his
surprise equalled them. His experience of men had shown them to be more
ready to seek rewards than to decline them. However, he had no time to
analyse such a phenomenon just then.

"As you please, as you please," he answered. "Remain in the ranks if you
prefer it. It seems to me, however, that you are throwing away the one
chance of your life."

Then calling one of his aides-de-camp, he turned his attention to
another matter, and Max, having saluted, returned to his bivouac. But
though the general appeared to have set the matter aside, it did not
seem as if he had altogether forgotten it, for later on, commenting on
the incident, he said to one of his officers, "That man's face worries
me. He is like a person I have seen before, but I cannot, for the life
of me, think whose face it is, or where I met its owner."

On two other occasions Max came even nearer to being discovered. A week
or so later he was on sentry duty, when a man, who had for many years
acted as intermediary between the Count von Marquart and our father in
England, stopped his horse and addressed a question to him. For a moment
Max thought he could scarcely fail to recognise him, but the beard he
wore, and the uniform of a private soldier must have changed his
appearance, for the officer passed on without comment. The third
occasion, however, was more desperate than either I have yet described.