John thought little of the words then, Mr. Anson preached so
much--although he was to remember them later--because his attention was
diverted to the young stranger whom the officer was now asking for his
passport. The youth--he was little more than such--raised his head
languidly from the cushion and without wholly lifting his weary lids
produced his passport from the inside pocket of his coat. John could not
keep from seeing the name on it, "August Wilhelm Kempner."

"Ah, from Vienna," said the examining officer, "and your occupation is
described here as that of a painter."

"Yes," said the weary youth, "but I fear that it is no occupation at all
in times like these."

As he spoke in German John did not understand him, but he knew that he
was making some sort of explanation. He also saw that the officer was
satisfied, as, smiling with the courtesy common to the Austrians, he
passed into the corridor, and entered the next compartment. John, by and
by, spoke to young Kempner, using good French--he remembered that many
Austrians understood French--and the young man promptly replied but in
broken and fragmentary French.

The two managed to carry on a more or less connected conversation, in
which several people in the compartment joined freely with scraps of
English, French and German, helping out one another, as best they could,
and forming a friendly group. It seemed to John that something of the
ordinary stiffness prevailing among strangers was relaxed. All of them,
men and women, were moved by an unusual emotion and he readily
attributed it to the war, although a great state like Austria-Hungary
should not become unduly excited over a struggle with a little one like
Servia.

But he let Mr. Anson do most of the talking for America, and by and by
began to watch through the window again. The green of the rich country
rested both eye and brain, and, a war between Austria-Hungary and Servia
was not such a tremendous affair. There was always trouble down in that
Balkan region. Trouble there, was far less remarkable than the absence
of it. As for himself he wanted to see the Danube, which these careless
Viennese persisted in calling the Donau, and the fine old capital which
had twice turned back the Turks, but not Napoleon.

He soon saw that they would reach Vienna long after the destined time.
The stops at every station were long and the waiting crowds thickened.
"I did not know so many people were anxious to see ou