John saw von Arnheim’s eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner.  He lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying: 

“It’s an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes.  In this chateau you must consider yourself a guest, and not a captive.  It would not become us to treat otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother.”

John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment.  It was indirect, coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever, because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful.  The brown dress and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood.  She was beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more than a child, and she had come into strange places.  The stalwart Suzanne also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look deepened.

“We will give you the best hospitality the house affords,” continued von Arnheim.  “It’s scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners left—­”

He paused and reddened.  John knew his embarrassment was due to the fact that the house to which he was inviting Julie belonged to one of her own countrymen.  But she did not seem to notice it.  The manner and appearance of von Arnheim inspired confidence.

“We’ll be put with the other prisoners, of course,” said John tentatively.

“I don’t know,” replied von Arnheim.  “That rests with my superior, whom you shall soon see.”

They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told little of what the house contained.  Officers and soldiers saluted the young prince as he passed.  John saw discipline and attention everywhere.  The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline.  A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased to think when the call of the drill sergeant came.  Discipline and obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which the powers of the trained militarists could not create.  At least John thought so.

The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered the chateau.  A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose with him.  It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John’s heart was troubled.

Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply.  He stood not only in the presence of his general, but of royalty also.  It was something in the German blood, even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not like it at all.  The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they stood had set the torch to Europe.