was! Just in the midst of their preparations
to go away. That was put aside now. They must stay behind and do their
duty. Mamma had presided at a committee for providing the troops with
refreshment at the railway station; she herself and Malvine were also
members. There were meetings every day, and then there was running
about here, there, and everywhere, to collect money, enlist sympathy,
make purchases, and finally to see to the arrangements at the departure
of the troops.

"It is hard work," sighed Frau Ellrich; "I have dozens of letters to
write every day, and can hardly keep up with the correspondence."

Herr von Pechlar said he regretted that he was obliged to take to the
sword; he would much rather have helped the ladies with the pen.

Wilhelm felt that the moral atmosphere was intolerable. He had nothing
to say, and yet it was painful to him to be silent. Nobody made any
sign of leaving, so at last he rose. Herr von Pechlar did not follow
his example, merely giving him a distant bow. Malvine put out her hand
quickly, which Wilhelm grasped, feeling it tremble a little in his.
Frau Ellrich went with him to the door. She seemed touched, and said
with motherly tenderness, while he kissed her hand:

"We shall anxiously expect letters from you, and I promise you that we
will write as often as possible."

Loulou went outside the door with Wilhelm, in spite of a glance from
her mother. She thought they could bid each other good-by with a kiss,
but two servants stood outside, and they had to content themselves with
a prolonged clasp of the hand, and a look from Wilhelm's troubled eyes
into hers, which were wet. She was the first to speak:

"Farewell, and come back safely, my Wilhelm. I must go back to the
drawing-room."

Yes, if she must! and without looking back, he descended the marble
staircase, feeling chilled to the bone, in spite of the hot sunlight in
the street. He had the feeling that he was leaving nothing belonging to
him in Berlin, except his own people's graves.

In the evening he left by one of the numberless roads which at short
distances traverse Germany toward the west like the straight lines of a
railway. The quiet of the landscape was disturbed by the fifes, rattle
of wheels, and clanking of chains, and to all the villages along the
road they brought back the consciousness, forgotten till now, that
Germany's best blood was to be shed in a stream flowing westward. A
time was beginning for Wilhe