Philipson's eyes rested on the same group for a moment, when he was recalled to a sense of his situation by the thoughts of his father; and, spurring his jaded horse down the cross street, he reached the hostelry of the Flying Stag. FOOTNOTES: [4] _Baaren-hauter_,--he of the Bear's hide,--a nickname for a German private soldier. CHAPTER VI. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days; But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground; Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. _Henry VI. Part III._ The hostelry of the Flying Stag, in Strasburg, was, like every inn in the empire at the period, conducted much with the same discourteous inattention to the wants and accommodation of the guests as that of John Mengs. But the youth and good looks of Arthur Philipson, circumstances which seldom or never fail to produce some effect where the fair are concerned, prevailed upon a short, plump, dimpled, blue-eyed, fair-skinned yungfrau, the daughter of the landlord of the Flying Stag (himself a fat old man, pinned to the oaken chair in the _stube_), to carry herself to the young Englishman with a degree of condescension which, in the privileged race to which she belonged, was little short of degradation. She not only put her light buskins and her pretty ankles in danger of being soiled by tripping across the yard to point out an unoccupied stable, but, on Arthur's inquiry after his father, condescended to recollect that such a guest as he described had lodged in the house last night, and had said he expected to meet there a young person, his fellow-traveller. "I will send him out to you, fair sir," said the little yungfrau with a smile, which, if things of the kind are to be valued by their rare occurrence, must have been reckoned inestimable. She was as good as her word. In a few instants the elder Philipson entered the stable, and folded his son in his arms. "My son--my dear son!" said the Englishman, his usual stoicism broken down and melted by natural feeling and parental tenderness,--"Welcome to me at all times--welcome, in a period of doubt and danger--and most welcome of all, in a moment which forms the very crisis of our fate. In a few hours I shall know what we may expect from the Duke of Burgundy.--Hast thou the token?" Arthur's hand first sought that which was nearest to his heart, both in the literal and allegorical sense--the small parcel, namely, which Anne had given him at parting. But he recollected himself in the instant, and presented to his father the packet which had been so strangely lost and recovered at La Ferette.