“How much she knows about us,” thought Wilhelm, wondering.

“I often think of Uhland’s comrades.  It must be a great comfort in war to have a friend by one.”

“Happily one makes friends quickly there.”

“On that point we are better off than the poor reserve forces,” remarked Herr von Pechlar, not addressing himself to the speaker, but to Frau and Fraulein Ellrich.  “We regular officers pull together like old friends in danger and in death, while the others come among us unknown.  I imagine that must be very uncomfortable.”

Wilhelm felt that he had no answer to make, and a silence ensued.  Loulou broke it by moving her chair near Wilhelm, and began to chatter in a cheerful way over the occurrences of the last few days.  How dreadfully sudden all this was!  Just in the midst of their preparations to go away.  That was put aside now.  They must stay behind and do their duty.  Mamma had presided at a committee for providing the troops with refreshment at the railway station; she herself and Malvine were also members.  There were meetings every day, and then there was running about here, there, and everywhere, to collect money, enlist sympathy, make purchases, and finally to see to the arrangements at the departure of the troops.

“It is hard work,” sighed Frau Ellrich; “I have dozens of letters to write every day, and can hardly keep up with the correspondence.”

Herr von Pechlar said he regretted that he was obliged to take to the sword; he would much rather have helped the ladies with the pen.

Wilhelm felt that the moral atmosphere was intolerable.  He had nothing to say, and yet it was painful to him to be silent.  Nobody made any sign of leaving, so at last he rose.  Herr von Pechlar did not follow his example, merely giving him a distant bow.  Malvine put out her hand quickly, which Wilhelm grasped, feeling it tremble a little in his.  Frau Ellrich went with him to the door.  She seemed touched, and said with motherly tenderness, while he kissed her hand: 

“We shall anxiously expect letters from you, and I promise you that we will write as often as possible.”

Loulou went outside the door with Wilhelm, in spite of a glance from her mother.  She thought they could bid each other good-by with a kiss, but two servants stood outside, and they had to content themselves with a prolonged clasp of the hand, and a look from Wilhelm’s troubled eyes into hers, which were wet.  She was the first to speak: 

“Farewell, and come back safely, my Wilhelm.  I must go back to the drawing-room.”

Yes, if she must! and without looking back, he descended the marble staircase, feeling chilled to the bone, in spite of the hot sunlight in the street.  He had the feeling that he was leaving nothing belonging to him in Berlin, except his own people’s graves.