The major was unusually social and inquisitive, and while the soldiers fought their battles over again the girls listened and took notes, with feminine wits on the alert to catch any personal revelations which might fall from the interesting stranger. The wrongs and sufferings of Poland were discussed so eloquently that both young ladies were moved to declare the most undying hatred of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, the most intense sympathy for “poor Pologne.” All day they travelled together, and as Baden-Baden approached, they naturally fell to talking of the gay place. “Uncle, I must try my fortune once. I’ve set my heart upon it, and so has Nell. We want to know how gamblers feel, and to taste the fascination of the game which draws people here from all parts of Europe,” said Amy, in her half-pleading, half-imperious way. “You may risk one napoleon each, as I foolishly promised you should, when I little thought you would ever have an opportunity to remind me of my promise. It’s not an amusement for respectable Englishwomen, or men either. You will agree with me there, monsieur?” and the major glanced at the Pole, who replied, with his peculiar smile:— “Surely, yes. It is great folly and waste of time and money; yet I have known one man who found some good in it, or, rather, brought good out of it. I have a friend who has a mania for giving. His own fortune was spent in helping needy students at the University, and poor professors. This displeased his father, and he refused supplies, except enough for his simple personal wants. Sigismund chafed at this, and being skilful at all games, as a gentleman may be in the way of amusement, he resolved to play with those whose money was wasted on frivolities, and give his winnings to his band of paupers.” “How did it succeed, this odd fancy?” asked Helen, with an interested face, while Amy pinched her arm at the word “Sigismund.” “Excellently. My friend won often, and as his purpose became known it caused no unkind feeling, this unusual success, for fortune seemed to favor his kind object.” “Wrong, nevertheless, to do evil that good may come of it,” said the major, morally. “It may be so; but it is not for me to censure my benefactor. He has done much for my countrymen and myself, and is so truly noble I can see no fault in him.” “What an odd name! Sigismund is German, is it not?” asked Amy, in the most artless tone of interest. “Yes, mademoiselle, and Palsdorf is a true German; much courage, strength, and intellect, with the gayety and simplicity of a boy. He hates slavery of all kinds, and will be free at all costs. He is a good son, but his father is tyrannical, and asks too much. Sigismund will not submit to sell himself, and so is in disgrace for a time.” “Palsdorf!—was not that the name of the count or baron we heard them talking of at Coblentz?” said Helen to Amy, with a well-feigned air of uncertainty.