lass, and did the fine gentleman very well indeed. But though
everyone allowed him to be the finest young fellow on the road, yet
nobody seemed to care for the fact as much as he did; they talked, and
complimented, and stared at him, but he got tired of it. For he could
not arrange his hair any better; he could not dispose the rug more
gracefully, or stare more perseveringly through the glass; and if he
could, his friends could do nothing more than they had done. In fact,
he got tired of the crowd, and found himself gazing through the
window, not to see his fine friends, but to try and catch sight of his
brothers and sisters. Sometimes he saw the youngest brother, looking
each time more wild and reckless; and sometimes the sister, looking
more and more miserable; but he saw no one else.

"At last there was a stir among the people, and all heads were turned
towards the distance, as if looking for something. Melchior asked what
it was, and was told that the people were looking for a man, the hero
of many battles, who had won honour for himself and for his country in
foreign lands, and who was coming home. Everybody stood up and gazed,
Melchior with them. Then the crowd parted, and the hero came on. No
one asked whether he were handsome or genteel, whether he kept good
company, or wore a tiger-skin rug, or looked through an opera-glass?
They knew what he had _done_, and it was enough.

"He was a bronzed hairy man, with one sleeve empty, and a breast
covered with stars; but in his face, brown with sun and wind,
overgrown with hair and scarred with wounds, Melchior saw his second
brother! There was no doubt of it. And the brother himself, though he
bowed kindly in answer to the greetings showered on him, was gazing
anxiously for the old coach, where he used to ride and be so
uncomfortable, in that time to which he now looked back as the
happiest of his life.

"'I thank you, gentlemen. I am indebted to you, gentlemen. I have been
away long. I am going home.'

"'Of course he is!' shouted Melchior, waving his arms widely with
pride and joy. 'He is coming home; to this coach, where he was--oh,
it seems but an hour ago! Time goes so fast. We were great friends
when we were young together. My brother and I, ladies and gentlemen,
the hero and I--my brother--the hero with the stars upon his
breast--he is coming home!'

"Alas! what avail stars and ribbons on a breast where the life-blood
is trickling slowly from a little wound?