a mystery all of my own to solve.
And Gretchen was the only one to solve it.

I shall never forget that night under the chestnuts, on the bank of the
wide white river. The leaves were gossiping among themselves; they had
so much to talk about; and then, they knew so much! Had not they and
their ancestors filtered the same moonbeams, century on century? Had
not their ancestors heard the tramp of the armies, the clash of the
sabre, the roar of the artillery? Had not the hand of autumn and the
hand of death marked them with the crimson sign? Ah, the leaves! It
is well to press them in books when they themselves have such fine
stories to tell.

"Gretchen," said I, echoing my thoughts, "had I been born a hundred
years ago I must have been a soldier. Napoleon was a great warrior."

"So was Bluecher, since it was he who helped overcome the little
Corsican."

The Germans will never forgive Napoleon.

"But war is a terrible thing," went on Gretchen.

"Yes, but it is a great educator; it teaches the vanquished how little
they know."

"War is the offspring of pride; that is what makes it so abhorred."

"It is also the offspring of oppression; that is what makes it so
great."

"Yes; when the people take up arms it is well. War is the torch of
liberty in the hands of the people. Oh, I envy the people, who are so
strong, yet know it not. If I were a man I would teach the people that
a king has no divine right, save when it is conferred upon him by them."

"Gretchen, I'm afraid that you're a bit of a Socialist."

"And who is not who has any love for humanity?"

"A beautiful woman who is a Socialist, Gretchen, is a menace to the
King. Sometimes he fears her. At large, she is dangerous. He seeks
her, and if he finds her, he takes away her liberty." All this was
said with a definite purpose. It was to let Gretchen know that I knew
her secret. "Gretchen, you are an embryo Socialist; a chrysalis, as it
were."

"No, Herr," sadly; "I am a butterfly whose wings have been clipped."

I had not expected this admission,

"Never mind," said I. "Gretchen, I do not want you to call me Herr;
call me Jack."

"Jack!" she said. It became an uncommon name now.

"Whatever your true name may be, I shall never call you anything but
Gretchen."

"Ah, Jack!" She laughed, and the lurking echoes clasped the music of
that laughter in their wanton arms and hurried it across the river.

"Sing to me," said I.

Then imag