"Yes, but it is a great educator; it teaches the vanquished how little they know." "War is the offspring of pride; that is what makes it so abhorred." "It is also the offspring of oppression; that is what makes it so great." "Yes; when the people take up arms it is well. War is the torch of liberty in the hands of the people. Oh, I envy the people, who are so strong, yet know it not. If I were a man I would teach the people that a king has no divine right, save when it is conferred upon him by them." "Gretchen, I'm afraid that you're a bit of a Socialist." "And who is not who has any love for humanity?" "A beautiful woman who is a Socialist, Gretchen, is a menace to the King. Sometimes he fears her. At large, she is dangerous. He seeks her, and if he finds her, he takes away her liberty." All this was said with a definite purpose. It was to let Gretchen know that I knew her secret. "Gretchen, you are an embryo Socialist; a chrysalis, as it were." "No, Herr," sadly; "I am a butterfly whose wings have been clipped." I had not expected this admission, "Never mind," said I. "Gretchen, I do not want you to call me Herr; call me Jack." "Jack!" she said. It became an uncommon name now. "Whatever your true name may be, I shall never call you anything but Gretchen." "Ah, Jack!" She laughed, and the lurking echoes clasped the music of that laughter in their wanton arms and hurried it across the river. "Sing to me," said I. Then imagine my surprise--I, who had heard nothing but German fall from her lips?--when in a heavenly contralto she sang a chanson from "La Fille de Madame Angot," an opera forgotten these ten years! "_Elle est tellement innocente!_" She had risen, and she stood there before me with a halo of moonshine above her head. The hot blood rushed to my ears. Barmaid, Socialist, or whatever she might be, she was lovable. In a moment I was kissing her hand, the hand so small, so white, and yet so firm. A thousand inarticulate words came to my lips--from my heart! Did the hand tremble? I thought so. But swiftly she drew it from my clasp, all the joy and gladness gone from her face and eyes. "No, no!" she cried; "this must not be; it must not be!" "But I----" I began eagerly. "You must not say it; I command you. If you speak, Gretchen will be Gretchen no more. Yes, the King seeks Gretchen; but will you drive her away from her only haven?" with a choking sound. "Gretchen, trust me. Shall I go to-morrow? Shall I leave you in peace?" Somehow I believed myself to be in danger. "Speak!" There was an interval of stillness, broken only by the beating of hearts. Then: