ve said had he known that the
missing man was at that moment seated beside him.

Strange though it may seem, from the very moment of the return of our
family to Pannonia, a change took place in the war. Success after
success crowned our efforts, in consequence of which our troops took
heart, until, at last, instead of carrying on the strife in our own
country, on the twenty-second day of October we, for the first time,
crossed the borders, driving the enemy before us. Little by little, but
with a sureness and steadiness there could be no mistaking or denying,
Groplau was working out the plan he had long since formed in his mind.
With what sort of good fortune it was attended all those who have
followed the history of the war will be familiar. They will recall how
fifty thousand troops, by culpable negligence on the part of the enemy's
leaders, were divided into two portions and were prevented from uniting
again; how the Count von Leckstein, by a swift flank movement, cut off
their retreat, thus compelling them to take refuge in the city of
Zaarfburg. No success could have been more complete, no movement more
thoroughly prepared, or more admirably carried out. Contesting every
inch of the way, fighting with the fury that was the outcome of despair,
for they must have known that they were lost, hemmed in on every side,
they at length entered the gates of the same city as that into which
Rudolf the Brave had once brought a victorious army and more than two
thousand prisoners. Still working with the same mathematical precision,
Groplau's army took up its position on the plain that surrounded it, and
there and then the siege commenced. Winter came and found the garrison
still holding out. It was, however, as impossible for them to escape as
it was for us to get in. Their vigilance was only equalled by our own.
In other parts of the country the war was proceeding with varying
success; here, however, save for the continual artillery duel, there was
little or no fighting. The suspense, to say nothing of the inactivity,
was wearying in the extreme, until, at last, every one felt convinced
that something must be done to relieve it.

"It seems strange," said Bertram to Max one day, as they stood watching
the picturesque old city across the river, "that it should be so
difficult to get inside those walls. Surely there must be some way of
managing it?"

"That's just what I've been thinking lately," answered Max. "I should
very mu