Near where they sat was the platform for the ladies who were to crown the victors with wreaths.  Among them was Loulou.  All the emotions and force of character of which she was capable had been brought out by her position.  Through the influence of her father, who, in all the difficult and responsible business of the French indemnity had found time to intercede for his little daughter with the burgomasters and magistrates, Loulou’s dream was realized; a dream which all the prettiest girls in the best society in Berlin had also shared during the last week.  Her enrollment in this troop of beauties was regarded by her less successful friends with envy, but the vexation of disappointed rivals was naturally the sweetest part of her triumph.

The young girls were dressed all alike in mediaeval dresses like the well known pictures of Gretchen in “Faust,” with long plaits of hair, puffed and slashed sleeves, and senseless and theatrical-looking little hanging pockets.  All were nevertheless conscious of the propriety of their appearance, and felt quite heroic.  It really was heroic to sit there hour after hour in the burning sun bareheaded, until all were gathered into one great picture, and a documentary proof could be handed down to their grandchildren in the shape of a large-sized photograph, showing that their grandmothers had been chosen as the official beauties of Berlin in the year 1871.  The satisfaction of vanity, involving such a sacrifice, almost deserves admiration.

It was nearly midday when a sudden stir took place in the crowd.  Every one on the platforms sprang up and began to wave hats and handkerchiefs.  In the windows, on the roofs, in the spaces between the platforms, wherever men could be packed, suddenly all the heads turned to one side, just as a field of corn bends before a breeze.  Then uprose a roar of shouts and cheers, deafening and almost stunning in intensity.  It was impossible any longer to distinguish tone, but only a tumult, such as a diver in deep water might hear of the surface waves above him.  The senses were bemused by the continual succession, of heads set close together like a mosaic, and covering the whole surface of the great street, and by the roar which went up, cheering everything which made its appearance; whether it were the struggling activity of the crowd moving in the center of the street, the sudden fall of foolhardy boys who had climbed into trees or up lampposts, or the short and sharp fights which went on between spectators for the best places, nothing escaped recognition.

Now between the firing of cannons was heard a more distant sound of a warlike fanfare of trumpets, and between the pillars of the central Brandenburg Gateway came the Field-Marshal Wrangel, recognizing all the arrangements with a pleasant smile, and with a radiantly happy expression on his withered face, as the first enthusiasm of the people burst upon him, though he had demanded no part of the triumph for himself.