A half-hour or so later Weber went into the street, and John, muttering that he wished a little fresh air, rose and followed.  He had in mind only a vague idea of speaking with Weber, and of finding out something about Auersperg, of whose movements the Alsatian was likely to know.  But when he was outside Weber had vanished.  He walked up the street, only a little distance in either direction, because the soldiers were thick everywhere, and their officers wanted explanations.  Moreover, he recognized the futility of search.  Weber was gone as completely as if he had been snatched up into the air by an invisible hand, and John felt that he had missed an opportunity.

He took courage, nevertheless, and dismissing Weber from his mind, he made a renewed effort.  The precious passport once more came into play, and gradually, he made his way toward the finest hotel in Metz.  If Auersperg was still in the city it was likely that a man of his temper and luxurious habits would be at this hotel.

There were sentinels about the building and it was crowded with guests of high degree.  The assemblage here was altogether different from that of the Inn of the Golden Lion.  Generals and colonels were passing, and John learned from a soldier that a prince of the empire was inside.  His heart beat hard.  It could be none other than Auersperg, and using every possible excuse he remained in the vicinity of the hotel.

At last while he stood there he saw a face appear at an upper window, and his heart gave a great leap.  Despite the falling dusk, the strangeness of the place and the distance, the single faint glimpse was sufficient.  It was Julie.  He could not mistake that crown of wonderful golden hair in which slight coppery tints appeared, and the face, pale now.

John impulsively reached out his arms, but she could not see the young peasant who stood afar, watching her.  He dropped his arms, caution again warning him, but he stood gazing.  Perhaps it was a powerful, mysterious current sent from his heart that drew her at last.  She looked in his direction.  John knew that she could not recognize him there in the gloom, but, snatching off his cap, and, reckless of risk he waved it three times about his head.  It was a signal.  He did not know whether she could see it, nor if, seeing, could she surmise what it meant, but he hoped vaguely that something might come of it.  In any event, it was a relief to his feelings and it brought hope.

After the signal he forgot to put the cap on his head, but stood with it dangling in his hand.

“Hey, you fool!” said a rough German voice, “why do you stand there staring, with your cap in your hand, and your head bare, inviting the quick death of pneumonia that an idiot like you deserves?”

Although the voice was rough it was not unkindly, and as John came out of his dreams and wheeled about he saw again the rubicund face of Sergeant Scheller.