eloved Deutschland which existed no
more. Afterward, Heidelberg; the trip down the Rhine to the spires
of Cologne; and then Aix at the western border, where that august
sovereign slept in a haunting majesty, wrapped in the mystic
grandeur of the Dark Ages. It was the most fitting and impressive
place on the frontier from which to bid adieu to Germania.

In gratitude for his recovery Gard made handsome presents to
everyone at Loschwitz, accompanied by the conventional _Edelweiss_.
Villa Elsa, in turn, was profuse in its expressions and little acts
of good will. Herr Bucher gave him a queer pipe, and the boys
furnished the smoking tobacco. These gifts were to while away the
lost hours on the tour. From Frau came a flask of cognac for use in
case he were dizzy on the trains. Fraeulein bestowed on him one of
her tiny etchings showing the Elbe with the Schiller Garden where
all had spent so many evenings.

Gard's route, his through ticket to the sea, his traveling clothing,
were subjects of daily conversation at the table. Although the
family were entirely obliging, Rudi, odd to say, occupied himself
the most about the trip. He seemed wonderfully keyed up and more
full of military talk even than usual. He insisted on seeing about
time-tables, hotels to be recommended, the favorite dishes and brews
to be called for at each stopping place for local tone.

Kirtley was pleased over his friendly attentions. He wished to leave
with good feelings all around.

When Rudi helped him get his trunk from the store room, Gard's
forgotten passport fell out and excited the other's curiosity.

"I've never seen an American state paper before," he remarked,
puffing a cigarette. "What a droll looking affair! So different from
ours. Would you mind if I just glanced at it?"

"Certainly not." Anderson's suspicions of the young German glanced
through Kirtley's mind. But Rudi was a thick-headed boy, and what
could he or anyone accomplish with a passport? Gard had scarcely
been called upon to use it. It had been treated almost as a blank
formality, an empty courtesy.

"You don't have to show it in German towns--only at the frontier? Am
I right?" inquired Rudi after he had minutely read it through as if
he had been an official.

"Only at the frontier." Gard grew wary. This knowing and recent
familiarity was not becoming entirely agreeable. It would be prudent
to mystify the son.

"But of course something _might_ happen in a German town and