ermission to go out for half an hour, and soon stood
before me in his smart attire. There was something graceful and yet
determined in his bearing.

When we gained the street, he asked me whether there was any chance of
his discharge.

I was in a sad dilemma. I had taken no steps, because it was only too
evident that my efforts would have been of no avail.

It was this that made me hesitate in answering him, and Ernst
exclaimed, "All right. I know all about it."

My very heart bled, pierced as it was by the same sword that rent my
Fatherland in twain.

I endeavored to persuade my son that there are times when our own wills
and thoughts are of no avail against the great current of Fate.

"Thanks, father, thanks," answered Ernst, in a strangely significant
tone.

I could only add, "I feel assured that you will do your duty. Do not
forget that you have parents and a bride."

He seemed to pay but little attention to my words.

He took off his helmet, and said, "This presses me so: I am unused to
it. It seems to crush my brain."

He looked very handsome, but very sad. We were standing before the
office of the State Gazette, when suddenly the street seemed filled
with groups of excited people, listening to a man who had climbed to
the top of a wagon and was reading off a dispatch just received from
Berlin, to the effect that there had been an attempt to shoot Bismarck,
but that the ball had missed aim.

"Curse him!" cried Ernst; "I would not have missed aim."

I reproved him with great severity, but he insisted that one had a
right to commit murder. I replied that no one would ever have that
right, and that this deed had been as culpable as the assassination of
Abraham Lincoln; for if any one man has the right to be both the judge
and the executioner of his enemies, you will have to accord the
privilege to the democrat as well as to the aristocrat.

"Let us cease this quarrelling," he answered; "I have no desire to
dispute with you. I am firm in my belief that one is justified in doing
wrong for the sake of bringing about a good result. But, I beg of you,
father, let us now and forever cease this quarrelling."

His face showed his conflicting emotions, and he kissed my hand when I
gently stroked his face.

The crowd had dispersed in the meanwhile, and we proceeded on our way.

Ernst suddenly stopped and said to me: "Farewell, father. Give my love
to mother and Martella."

He held on to my hand quite firm