to-day, which is not
likely."

"Which is not likely indeed," repeated the Colonel sadly. He pulled out
his pipe, and smoked for a time. "But let us not judge harshly, says
the Book. There may be circumstances over which Prince Frederick has no
control. I suppose your sympathies are on the other side of the path.
Youth is always quick and generous; it never stops to weigh causes or
to reason why. And strange, its judgment is almost always unerring. I am
going to share my dinner with you to-night. I'll try to brighten you up
a bit."

"Thanks."

"Then after dinner we'll play poker until they come to take you to
Brunnstadt."

"What sort of a city is it?"

"You will not see much of it; so I will not take the trouble to tell you
that it is slightly inferior to Bleiberg."

Sure enough, when the dark of evening fell, two servants entered with
trays and baskets, and proceeded to lay the table. They put new candles
in the bayonets.

"Ha!" said the Colonel; "you have forgotten the wine, rascals!"

"Bring a dozen bottles," Maurice suggested, having an idea in mind.

"Eh?"

"Remember, Colonel, I've been a soldier and a journalist in a country
where they only wash with water. In the summer we have whisky iced,
in the winter we have it hot; an antidote for both heat and cold. Ah,
Colonel, if you only might sniff a mint julep!"

"A dozen bottles, then," said the Colonel to the servants, who retired
to execute the order.

"How old will it be?" asked Maurice.

"Twice your age, my son. But do not make any miscalculation about my
capacity for tokayer."

"Any miscalculation?" Maurice echoed.

"Yes; if you plan to get me drunk. There are no troopers about, and it
would be easy enough for you to slip out if I should lose my head."

Maurice's laugh had a false ring to it. The Colonel had made a very
shrewd guess.

"Well!" said the Colonel, with a gesture toward the table.

They sat down, and both made an excellent dinner. Maurice demolished
a roasted pheasant, stuffed with chestnuts, while the Colonel
disintegrated a duck. The wine came, and the servants ranged six bottles
on the side of each plate. It was done so gravely that Maurice laughed
heartily. The wine was the oldest in Madame's cellar, and Maurice
wondered at the Colonel's temerity in selecting it. The bottles were of
thick glass, fat-bottomed, and ungainly, and Maurice figured that there
was more than a pint in each. It possessed a delicious bouquet. The
C