Young Kratzek in the hospital was improving fast and John secured leave of absence long enough to see him once.  He was fervent in his gratitude and renewed his promises that somehow and somewhere he would surely repay young Scott.  News that he was alive, but a prisoner, had reached the German lines and already an exchange for him had been arranged, the Germans, owing to his rank, being willing to return a French brigadier in his place.  The prospect filled him with happiness and he talked much.  John noticed once more how very young he was, not much more than seventeen, and with manners decidedly boyish.  He had the utmost confidence in the success of Germany and Austria, despite the check at the Marne, and talked freely of another advance.  John led him adroitly to his cousin of Auersperg, of whom he wished to hear more.  He soon discovered that Auersperg was a very great prince to Kratzek.

“I stand in some awe of him.  I need scarcely tell you that Herr Scott, my captor,” he said, “because he represents so much.  Ah, the history and the legends clustering about our house, that goes far back into the dim ages!  The Auerspergs were counts and princes of the Holy Roman Empire, and they have been grand dukes.  They have decided the choice of more than one emperor at Frankfort, and they have stood with the highest when they were crowned at Augsburg.  Please don’t think I am boasting for myself, Herr Scott, it is only for my cousin, the august Prince Karl, hochwohlgeboren!”

“I understand,” said John, smiling.  “But I want to tell you, Leopold Kratzek, that I’m hochwohlgeboren myself.”

“Why, how is that?  You are neither German nor Austrian.”

“No, I’m American, but I’m very highborn nevertheless.  There are a hundred millions of us and all of us are very highborn not excepting our colored people, many of whom are descended from African princes who have a power over their people not approached by either of the kaisers.”

The boy smiled.

“Now, I know you jest,” he said.  “You have no classes, but I’ve heard that all of you claim to be kings.”

John saw that he had made no impression upon him.  Frank, honest and brave, an Auersperg was nevertheless in the boy’s mind an Auersperg, something superior, a product of untold centuries, a small and sublimated group of the human race to which nothing else could aspire, not even talent, learning, courage and honesty.  To all Auerspergs, Napoleon and Shakespeare were mere men of genius, to be patronized.  John smiled, too.  He did not feel hurt at all.  In his turn he felt a superiority, a superiority of perception, and a superiority in the sense of proportion.

“Prince Karl of Auersperg is always resolved to maintain his pride of blood, is he not?” he asked.

“He considers it his duty.  The head of a house that has been princely for fifteen centuries could not do less.  He could never forget or forgive an insult to his person.”