and guessed what none of these young gentlemen
did--to what all the wicked intrigues of Berlin, Petersburg and Vienna,
of the last ten days were tending."

"I have heard to-night--in fact it was the daughter of the Dean who
mentioned it--that the British Army is going to Belgium," said Mr.
Hegner casually. "Is your son going to Belgium, Mr. Froehling?"

"Not that I know of," said the other. But a troubled look came over his
face. He opened his mouth as if to add something, and then tightly shut
it again.

Mr. Hegner had the immediate impression that old Froehling could have
told him something worth hearing had he been willing to do so.

"Well, that is all," said the host with a dismissory air, as he got up
from his seat. "I have many to see, many to advise to-night. One thing I
_do_ tell you, Mr. Froehling. You may take it from me that if you wish to
leave this place you should clear out quickly. They will be making very
tiresome regulations soon--but not now, not for a few days. Fortunately
for you, and for all those who have not taken out their certificates,
there is no organisation in this country. As for thoroughness, they do
not know the meaning of the word."

"I have sometimes wondered," observed Mr. Froehling mildly, "why you, who
dislike England so much, should have taken out your certificate, Mr.
Hegner. In your place I should have gone back to America."

"You have no right, no business, to say that I dislike England!" cried
his host vehemently. "It is a wicked thing to say to me on such a day
as this! It is a thing that might do me great harm in this city of which
I am a Councillor."

"It is not a thing that I should say to any one but you," returned the
old man. "But nevertheless it is true. We have not very often met--but
every time we have met you have spoken in a disagreeable, a derogatory,
a jeering way of what is now your country."

"And you," said Mr. Hegner, his eyes flashing, "have often spoken to me
in a derogatory, a jeering, a disagreeable way of Germany--of the
country where we were each born, of our _real_ Fatherland."

"It is not of Germany that I speak ill," said the older man wearily; "it
is of what a few people have made of my beloved country. To-day we see
the outcome of their evil doings. But all that is transitory. I am an
old man, and yet I hope to see a free Germany rise up."

He walked through into the shop, and beckoned to his wife. Then they
both turned towards the door th