The colonel seized the old man by the shoulder to push him aside.  The other never so much as stirred.  He put out one of his arms and clasped the colonel in such a manner that he gasped.  He was in the clutch of a Carpathian bear.

“Well, my little soldier?” said the mountaineer, his voice even and not a vein showing in his neck.

“I will kill you for this!” breathed the colonel heavily.

“So?” The old man thrust him back several feet, without any visible exertion.  He let his staff slide into his hand.

The moment the colonel felt himself liberated, he drew his saber and lunged toward his assailant.  There was murder in his heart.  The two women screamed.  The old man laughed.  He turned the thrust with his staff.  The colonel, throwing caution to the four winds, surrendered to his rage.  He struck again.  The saber rang against the oak.  This dexterity with the staff carried no warning to the enraged officer.  He struck again and again.  Then the old man struck back.  The pain in the colonel’s arm was excruciating.  His saber rattled to the stone flooring.  Before he could recover the weapon the victor had put his foot upon it.  He was still smiling, as if the whole affair was a bit of pastime.

On his part the colonel’s blood suddenly cooled.  This was no accident; this meddling peasant had at some time or other held a saber in his hand and knew how to use it famously well.  The colonel realized that he had played the fool nicely.

“My sword,” he demanded, with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Will you sheathe it?” the old man asked mildly.

“Since it is of no particular use,” bitterly.

“I could have broken it half a dozen times.  Here, take it.  But be wise in the future, and draw it only in the right.”

The gall was bitter on the colonel’s tongue, but his head was evenly balanced now.  He jammed the blade into the scabbard.

“I should like a word or two with you outside,” said the mountaineer.

“To what purpose?”

“To a good one, as you will learn.”

The two of them went out.  Gretchen, overcome, fell upon Fraeu Bauer’s neck and wept soundly.  The whole affair had been so sudden and appalling.

Outside the old man laid his hand on the colonel’s arm.

“You must never bother her again.”

“Must?”

“The very word.  Listen, and do not be a fool because you have some authority on the general staff.  You are Colonel von Wallenstein; you are something more besides.”

“What do you infer?”

“I infer nothing.  Now and then there happens strange leakage in the duke’s affairs.  The man is well paid.  He is a gambler, and one is always reasonably certain that the gambler will be wanting money.  Do you begin to understand me, or must I be more explicit?”

“Who are you?”

“Who I am is of no present consequence.  But I know who and what you are.  That is all-sufficient.  If you behave yourself in the future, you will be allowed to continue in prosperity.  But if you attempt to molest that girl again and I hear of it, there will be no more gold coming over the frontier from Jugendheit.  Now, do you understand?”