“The wound was but a slight one, a shot in the arm, but not deep; it’s almost healed now, but Stahlberg cannot use it in active service for some time yet.  You are acquainted with him?”

“Oh, yes, I was a kinsman of his sister’s late husband.  I see you do not remember me.  My name is Willibald von Eschenhagen.  I have met your highness several times in past years.”

“At Fuerstenstein!” exclaimed Egon with animation.  “Certainly, now I remember you well, but it is wonderful what a change the uniform makes in one’s appearance.  I didn’t recognize you at all at first.”

He cast an admiring, surprised glance at the tall, handsome man whom he had once ridiculed as a cabbage grower, but who looked so brave and manly in his military dress.  It was not the uniform which had so altered Willibald; love, camp life and entire change from the old monotonous existence had done it.  The young heir was no longer a “weak tool,” as his uncle Schoenau had called him, but a brave, determined, genuine man.

“Our former meetings have been but fleeting,” the prince went on, “so you must forgive the liberty if I offer you my congratulations; you are betrothed, I believe to—­”

“I believe your highness is laboring under a mistake,” Willibald interrupted him, with some embarrassment.  “When I last saw you at Fuerstenstein I was to be the future son of that house, but—­”

“That’s all changed,” interrupted Egon, laughing.  “I know all about it from a comrade of mine, Lieutenant Walldorf, who is to marry your cousin, Fraeulein von Schoenau.  My words had reference to Fraeulein Marietta Volkmar.”

“Now Frau von Eschenhagen.”

“What! you are a married man?”

“And have been for five months.  We were married just before I marched, and my wife is at Burgsdorf with my mother.”

“Then I can congratulate you upon your marriage.  But seriously, Herr Comrade, I ought to call you to account for your robbery of an artist from our midst.  Please tell your wife that the whole city is in sackcloth and ashes over her loss.”

“I will tell her, although I think the city has no time for such light sorrows now.  Ah, there are the gentlemen!  I hear Eugen’s voice.”

There they were, true enough.  They entered just as Willibald ceased speaking.  Young Stahlberg greeted his friend with a joyous cry of surprise.  They had not seen each other since the war began, though they were in the same army corps.  Eugen’s arm was in a sling, otherwise he looked well and happy.  He had none of his sister’s beauty, neither had he the strength and earnestness of expression which had been her legacy from their father.  The son seemed, to judge from his appearance, of an amiable and yielding, rather than a strong nature; but notwithstanding all this he resembled his sister strongly, and that was the secret of Egon’s friendship for him.  His companion was a handsome young officer, with keen, merry eyes, and as he stepped into the room the prince introduced him to Willibald.