"Hm! After a different fashion, perhaps," the colonel said, with a smile. "Be assured I will do all that I can to further your wishes. And, by the way, what has become of that scoundrel Sorr? Has Poseneck's suspicion been confirmed? Is the Baron de Nouart, whom Captain von Saeben laid low with a sabre-stroke, found to be one and the same person with Herr von Sorr?" "There he lies," Styrum gravely replied! "I have no doubt upon the subject, although the features seem greatly altered. I saw Sorr only once at a ball, but I remember him perfectly, and recognized the dead man's face, although it is disguised by a huge false beard." The colonel turned and looked at the corpse of the supposed Baron. A compassionate maid had washed the blood from the face, and in so doing had loosened the false beard, which the colonel now tossed aside, and all doubt as to the man's identity instantly vanished from the minds of the two officers. "It is indeed he," said Schlichting; "he has reaped the reward of his treachery, as has also Repuin, who was shot dead early in the engagement. I think, Styrum, that both you and Herr von Poseneck will agree with me that it is best so; we are spared the dealing out to them the death of traitors." As he spoke he went up to Kurt's couch, and the young man was quite able to express his thanks for the colonel's promised aid in transporting him to Kaltenborn. The surgeon, however, at this moment made his appearance and forbade further conversation, as Kurt's wound was in the chest and he had suffered from loss of blood. Count Schlichting therefore gave his hand a farewell pressure and left the hall. Several months have elapsed; how, during this time, those who have played principal parts in our story have prospered may be gathered from the following communications from the widowed Frau von Sorr to her dearest friend: "Kaltenborn, December 18, 1870. "Dearest Adele,--What weeks of suspense have passed since I last wrote you!--passed amid hopes and fears, terrible distress, and yet happiness unspeakable. I could not write; every moment that was not spent in care of him seemed wasted in disloyal neglect. "At last the staff surgeon came to me yesterday with a beaming face and the delicious words, 'Out of all danger!' Since then I have been in a dream of happiness, and my first thought is to make you the sharer of my joy.