He was broad enough to be able to put himself in von Hemelstein’s place. He knew that by birth, education, and example the man’s attitude to him, in fact to the rest of the world, was that of a superior being looking down upon those immeasurably beneath him. For him, a Prussian nobleman, to be spoken to in this way by one of a lower sphere was bad enough, but when that one was of the very lowest of spheres, an American, it was acute pain. He looked upon Edestone as a low comedian rather than as a gentleman in the hands of a chivalrous enemy, which the officer considered himself to be. Edestone himself felt no resentment but the sort of pity that he would feel for one who was born with an hereditary weakness that he could no more control than the colour of his eyes. He was as sorry as he would have been, had he been guilty of laughing at the irregularity of another man’s teeth which were not so perfect as his own. He got up and walked slowly over toward his travelling companion. The handsome warrior quickly let his hand fall to his loaded automatic as if he expected to be attacked, but when he saw Edestone standing quietly before him, and with a rather sad smile on his face, he turned back to his reading and refused to look up, even after Edestone had begun to speak. “I am sorry, Count von Hemelstein,” said the inventor, “to have offended you, and I beg that you will accept my most humble apology. We Americans, I fear, are too much inclined to let our sense of humour run away with us.” The soldier raised his eyes with a threatening look, not knowing but that Edestone was still poking fun at him, or else, fearing the consequences of his rashness, was trying to ingratiate himself with his jailer. But after that glance at Edestone’s face he felt confident that his apology was sincere. The Prussian’s pride was too deeply wounded, however, for him to give in at once. “I am glad, Mr. Edestone,” he replied stiffly, “that you realize that it is not customary to speak lightly of Germany in the presence of one of her officers.” “I know,” exclaimed Edestone, “it was extremely bad taste for me to criticize a civilization so much older than my own, but you will,” he smiled, “forgive the cowboy I am sure when he tells you he is sorry.” Then seeing by the expression of the officer’s face that he had won the day: “Come now, Count von Hemelstein, let’s be friends. I would not have liked you had you not resented my remarks, and I was a cad to take advantage of your absolutely defenceless position.” The Count broke out into a hearty laugh, and jumping up took Edestone’s extended hand. “You Americans,” he vowed, all traces of his ill-feeling gone, “are the most remarkable chaps. I never saw a cowboy, but if they are anything like you they must be descended from some branch of the Hohenzollern family.”