"Are you mad?" cried the surgeon with a loud laugh. "What am I to do with the spies? Are they wounded?" "No, they are all three sound and healthy." "Frederic, this is only another of your stupid freaks!" said the captain, thoughtfully draining his glass. "To the major, the lieutenant must have said." "He said I must take them to the doctor," persisted Frederic, "because he comes from B. The niece of Doctor Stephen, the American Miss, is one of them." "Miss Forest!" cried the surgeon, starting up. "Heaven and earth! Then Walter has a supreme happiness. Destiny now brings him the prize of war, and he cares nothing for it at all; sends the lady up here to us through an escort,--nobody in the whole world but Walter Fernow is capable of this!" "Miss Forest! Who is Miss Forest? Tell us at once, Doctor!" echoed from all sides. "Do not detain me, gentlemen!" cried the doctor excitedly. "I must go, for as it appears, a stupid error has been committed. Would you know who Miss Forest is? A relative of our first physician in B.; a young American lady, heiress to a million, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture, a meteor, which all B. admires and adores, and whose unhappy devotee I also confess myself to be. God be gracious to you Frederic, if you have been guilty of an incivility to her!" He hastened away. But the brief sketches he had thrown off of Miss Forest, had electrified the whole company. The words, 'millionaire, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture,' had fallen like so many firebrands into the ears and hearts of the younger officers, and they all at once vowed to make the acquaintance of this interesting personage. But the æsthetic major rose solemnly and followed with long strides. The affair promised to be immensely romantic. "Frederic," said the fat captain, who had been sitting at his drinking bowl in perfect repose of mind. "Frederic, you have again been guilty of a precious piece of stupidity." Frederic stood there with open mouth, annihilated, quite cast down from the height of his self-importance. He threw a bewildered glance towards the entrance of the park, where his "spies" had been received with the most respectful politeness, and a second melancholy one upon the officer sitting near him, and lowering his head, he said with mournful acquiescence: "I am at your command, Herr Captain." CHAPTER XIX. The Lover's Accusation.