"God answer them!" said the soldier piously. Then in a moment of enthusiasm he bent down and kissed the comical upturned face of the old shopwoman. "Pray for me with all your soul," he said, "for I want that cup, Mother of Heaven! I must have that cup." And, slinging his skates over his shoulder the officer was about to leave the shop, when Saunders accosted him. "Hullo, Von Hügelweiler!" said the latter. The soldier's eyes brightened with recognition. He had met the Englishman at Weissheim a few years previously, and was proud of the acquaintance, for Saunders was a name to conjure with in Grimland. "Herr Saunders!" he cried, "I am charmed to meet you again. You are his Majesty's guest, I presume." "I am at the Neptunburg, yes. Permit me to present my friend, Herr Trafford, of New York. Trafford, my friend, Ulrich Salvator von Hügelweiler, Captain in his Majesty's third regiment of Guides." The two shook hands. "Delighted to make your acquaintance," said the Grimlander. "But what are you requiring at Frau Krabb's?" "Some skates for to-morrow's competition," replied Trafford. "Himmel!" ejaculated Hügelweiler, "so you are the American competitor. You had better not ask me to choose your skates, or I should certainly select a faulty pair." Trafford laughed. "You are indeed a dangerous rival," he said. "I wish to succeed," said the soldier simply. "Perhaps success means more to me than to you; but I don't think I am a bad sportsman." "I will not tempt your probity," said Trafford. "I will select my own wares." Von Hügelweiler waited till the purchase was complete,--expressing his approval of the other's choice,--and then the three men sallied forth into the nipping air of the Bahnhofstrasse. "Where are you going?" asked Saunders of the Grimlander. "Back to barracks," replied the Captain. "Will you accompany me?" Saunders consulted his watch. "Trafford and I are dining in an hour's time," he said, "but we will walk part of the way with you. I wish to show my friend a bit of the town." Turning to the left, they entered one of the numerous lanes which proclaim the city's antiquity with gabled front and mullioned window. Ill-lit, ill-paved under the trampled snow, and smelling noticeably of garlic, bouillon, and worse, the thoroughfare--the Schugasse--led to the spacious Soldatenplatz, wherein was situated the fine barracks of the King's Guides. They had been walking but a few minutes, when a tall figure, heavily muffled in a black coat, strode rapidly past them. Trafford had a brief vision of piercing eyes shifting furtively under a woollen cap, as the man cast a lightning glance behind him. Then as the figure vanished abruptly into a mean doorway, Saunders and Von Hügelweiler exchanged glances. "So he _is_ back," said the former. "Then there is certain to be trouble." "Nothing is more certain," said the Captain calmly. "Who is back?" demanded the puzzled Trafford. "Father Bernhardt," replied his friend.