With high-pitched hurrahs, the mugs with one accord were lifted to the revellers' mouths, but before they could drink, an incisive "Halt!" from the lieutenant stopped them. "I see there is some one here," he cried, "who seems inclined to shirk this sacred duty;" and he rose and walked with clanking spurs across the room to the stranger's table. "Sir," he asked aggressively, "do I understand you don't wish to drink to Prussia's fame and glory?" "I wish to be left in peace," answered the stranger, not turning round. "What, sir? You who wear the honourable symbol of a defender of your country in your cap, decline----" A sudden movement on the part of the stranger, who grasped his pistols, made him break off. The next moment he saw firearms gleam in his hand, saw him spring up, and stood aghast, staring into a pale, overcast face that he knew well, but from which two such angry eyes had never blazed at him before. He understood the situation at once; he stood face to face with a man desperately resolved to go to any extremity if necessary. "Look at me, Felix Merckel," said the stranger, who was stranger no longer, "and learn that I wish to have nothing to say to you. But understand that if you or any of your friends come too near, they will rue it. The first who approaches within an inch of me I will shoot down like a dog." Felix Merckel quickly regained his composure. "Ah! the _Herr Baron_!" he exclaimed, with a profound bow. "Now I am not surprised that Prussia's----" The click of the double trigger of the cavalry pistol made him stop short again. "I warn you once more, Felix Merckel. I am an officer as well as yourself." And the reiterated warning had its effect. "Certainly, it is not my concern," Felix said, and with another low bow, went back to his place; this time the clatter of his spurs was scarcely audible. The Schrandeners put their heads together and whispered, and then old Merckel entered the room. His round, sleek, clean-shaven face beamed with prosperity and self-satisfaction. As beseemed the village patriarch, he passed by the common drinking-table with a dignified gait. A heavy silver watch-chain hung on his greasy satin waistcoat, suspended from a gold keeper in the form of a Moor's head, to which was also attached an amber heart. "The _Herr_ wished to speak to me?" he asked, with a profound obeisance, which, however, he seemed to repent, when his little grey lynx eyes remarked that the stranger had no glass before him. To be obsequious to a non-drinker was a waste of time. The Schrandeners kept their ears open. Felix had jumped up as if to seize this favourable opportunity of going for his whilom friend with his fists. "I say, father, it's the young _Herr Baron_," he exclaimed, with a discordant laugh. Old Merckel withdrew a few steps. His benevolent smile died on his lips; his fleshy fingers fumbled nervously with the Moor's-head keeper. "Can I speak to you alone?"