with the driver."

"That also will please me."

"And you ask no further questions?"

"Why should I? I know all I wish to know, which is more than you would
care to have me."

The mountaineer swore.

"If we talk any longer I shall be late for breakfast."

"Forward, then!"

On the way, it all came back to Carmichael with the vividness of a
forgotten photograph, come upon suddenly: Bonn, the Rhine, swift and
turbulent, a tow-headed young fellow who could not swim well, his own
plunge, his fingers in the flaxen hair, and the hard fight to the
landing; all this was a tale twice told.

Vintner? Not much!

CHAPTER XVI

HER FAN

It was dawn when they began to pull up the road to Dreiberg. The return
had been leisurely despite Carmichael's impatience. In the military
field the troops were breaking camp for their departure to the various
posts throughout the duchy. Only the officers, who were to attend the
court ball that evening, and the resident troops would remain. The
maneuvers were over; the pomp of miniature war was done. Carmichael
peered through the window. What a play yonder scene was to what he had
been through! To break camp before dawn, before breakfast, rain and hail
and snow smothering one; when the frost-bound iron of the musket caught
one's fingers and tore the skin; the shriek of shot overhead, the boom
of cannon and the gulp of impact; cold, hungry, footsore, sleepy; here
and there a comrade crumpling up strangely and lying still and white;
the muddy ruts in the road; the whole world a dead gray like the face of
death! What did those yonder know of war?

The carriage stopped.

"I shall not intrude, I trust?" said the old man, opening the door and
getting in.

"Not now," replied Carmichael. "What is all this about?"

"A trifle; I might say a damn-fool trifle. But what did you mean when
you said you knew all you wanted to know?" The mountaineer showed some
anxiety.

"Exactly what I said. The only thing that confuses me is the motive."

The old man thought for a while. "Suppose you had a son who was making a
fool of himself?"

"Or a nephew?"

"Well, or a nephew?"

"Making a fool of himself over what?"

"A woman."

"Nothing unusual in that. But what kind of a woman?"

"A good woman, honest, too good by far for any man."

"Oh!"

"Suppose she was vastly his inferior in station, that marriage to him
was merely a political contract? What would you do?"

"I believe I begin to