ce one as young
as his listener, and he employed a smoothness of speech and a charm of
manner that John in the morning in the gallery would have thought
impossible in one so stiff and haughty. The spell that this man was able
to cast increased, and yet he was always conscious of a pitiless
strength behind it.

John presently found himself telling his name, how he was traveling with
William Anson, older than himself, and in a way both a comrade and a
tutor, how he expected to meet his uncle, James Pomeroy, a United States
Senator, in Vienna, and his intention of returning to America early in
the autumn to finish his course at the university.

"I should like to see that America of yours," said von Boehlen, after he
had told something of himself, "but I fear it is not to be this year."

"You stay in Dresden long?" asked John.

"No, I leave tonight, but we may meet again, and then you can tell me
more of that far western world, so vast and so interesting, but of which
we Europeans really know so little."

John noticed that he did not tell where he was going. But he surmised
that Prussian army officers usually kept their destination to
themselves. His talk with von Boehlen had impressed him more than ever
with the size, speed and overwhelming power of the German army machine.
It was not possible for anything to stand before it, and the mystery
that clothed it around imparted to it a superhuman quality.

But he brushed away such thoughts. The sun was shining again. It danced
in a myriad golden beams over the Elbe, it clothed in warmth the kindly
city, and von Boehlen, with a politeness that was now unimpeachable rose
to tell him good-bye. He acknowledged to himself that he felt a little
flattered by the man's attention, and his courtesy was equal to that of
the Prussian. Then the officer, dropping his hand to the hilt of his
sword, apparently a favorite gesture, stalked away.

It was John's first impulse to tell Mr. Anson of his talk with von
Boehlen, but he obeyed his second and kept it to himself. Even after he
was gone the feeling that some motive was behind the Prussian's
blandness remained.

A letter came that afternoon from his uncle, the Senator. He was in
Vienna, and he wished his nephew and Mr. Anson to join him there,
cutting short their stay in Dresden. They could come by the way of
Prague, and a day or two spent in that old Bohemian city would repay
them. John showed the letter to Mr. Anson, who agreed wi