an. A pity that he should select so
unerringly and appropriate the choicest things in the castle!

Near the head of the bed, Don Marcelo saw lying upon a book of devotions
forgotten by his wife, a medallion containing another photograph. It did
not belong to his family, and the Count, following the direction of his
eyes, wished to show it to him. The hands of this son of Mars trembled.
. . . His disdainful haughtiness had suddenly disappeared. An official
of the Hussars of Death was smiling from the case; his sharp profile
with a beak curved like a bird of prey, was surmounted by a cap adorned
with skull and cross-bones.

"My best friend," said the Count in tremulous tones. "The being that I
love most in all the world. . . . And to think that at this moment he
may be fighting, and they may kill him! . . . To think that I, too, may
die!"

Desnoyers believed that he must be getting a glimpse into a romance of
the nobleman's past. That Hussar was undoubtedly his natural son. His
simplicity of mind could not conceive of anything else. Only a father's
tenderness could so express itself . . . and he was almost touched by
this tenderness.

Here the interview came to an end, the warrior turning his back as he
left the room in order to hide his emotion. A few minutes after was
heard on the floor below the sound of a grand piano which the Commissary
had not been able to carry off, owing to the general's interposition.
His voice was soon heard above the chords that he was playing. It was
rather a lifeless baritone, but he managed to impart an impassioned
tremolo to his romance. The listening old man was now really affected;
he did not understand the words, but the tears came into his eyes. He
thought of his family, of the sorrows and dangers about them and of the
difficulties surrounding his return to them. . . . As though under the
spell of the melody, little by little, he descended the stairs. What
an artist's soul that haughty scoffer had! . . . At first sight, the
Germans with their rough exterior and their discipline which made them
commit the greatest atrocities, gave one a wrong impression. One had to
live intimately with them to appreciate their true worth.

By the time the music had ceased, he had reached the castle bridge. A
sub-officer was watching the graceful movements of the swans gliding
double over the waters of the moat. He was a young Doctor of Laws who
just now was serving as secretary to His Excellency--a