Towards the mill I was journeying at the easy pace of my pony, early on a summer’s morning, preferring the rural breakfast with the miller--for they are always a kind of innkeepers--to the fare of the village. I entered the little bridle-path that conducted to his door, and was sauntering listlessly along, dreaming pleasantly, as one does, when the song of the lark and the heavy odour of dew-pressed flowers steep the heart in happiness all its own, when, behind me, I heard the regular tramp of marching. I listened; had I been a stranger to the sound, I should have thought them soldiers, but I knew too well the measured tread of the student, and I heard the jingling of their heavy sabres--a peculiar clank a student’s ear cannot be deceived in. I guessed at once the object of their coming, and grew sick at heart to think that the storm of men’s stubborn passions and the strife of their revengeful nature should desecrate a peaceful spot like this. I was about to turn back, disgusted at the thought, when I remembered I must return by the same path, and meet them; but even this I shrank from. The footsteps came nearer and nearer, and I had barely time to move off the path into the brushwood, and lead my pony after, when they turned the angle of the way. They who walked first were muffled in their cloaks, whose high collars concealed their faces; but the caps of many a gaudy colour proclaimed them students. At a little distance behind, and with a slower step, came another party, among whom I noticed one who walked between two others, his head sunk on his bosom, and evidently overcome with emotions of deep sorrow. A movement of my horse at this instant attracted their attention towards the thicket; they stopped, and a voice called out my name. I looked round, and there stood Eisendecker before me. He was dressed in deep mourning, and looked pale and worn, his black beard and moustache deepening the haggard expression of features, to which the red borders of his eyelids, and his bloodless lips, gave an air of the deepest suffering. ‘Ah, my friend,’ said he, with a sad effort at a smile, ‘you are here quite _à propos_. I am going to fight Adolphe this morning.’ A fearful presentiment that such was the case came over me the instant I saw him; but when he said so, a thrill ran through me, and I grew cold from head to foot. ‘I see you are sorry,’ said he, tenderly while he took my hand within both of his; ‘but you would not blame me--indeed you would not--if you knew all.’ ‘What, then, was the cause of this quarrel? How came you to an open rupture?’ He turned round, and as he did so his face was purple, the blood suffused every feature, and his very eyeballs seemed as if about to burst. He tried to speak; but I only heard a rushing noise like a hoarse-drawn breath. ‘Be calm, my dear Eisendecker,’ said I. ‘Cannot this be settled otherwise than thus?’