The party seated themselves around a small fire. Sleep soon came to the Duke's aid, and for awhile made him forget that he had again lost his dukedom. The knight of Lichtenstein also slept. Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, resting his arms on his knees, concealed his face in both hands, and it was uncertain whether he dosed, or whether he was sorrowing over the fate of his unhappy master, which the day's battle had so cruelly decided. Albert von Sturmfeder, though almost overpowered with fatigue, resisted the power of sleep, and, being the youngest of the party, volunteered to keep watch. Beside him sat his faithful friend, the fifer of Hardt, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the fire, and appeared to concentrate his thoughts in the words of a song, whose melancholy strain he hummed to himself with a soft suppressed voice. When the fire blazed up occasionally a little brisker, he cast a sorrowful look at the Duke, to see if he still slept, and then recommenced the same lamentable dirge. "You are singing a very melancholy strain, Hans!" said Albert, whose attention was excited by the peculiar tones of the song: "it sounds like a death song or mourning dirge; I can't listen to it without shuddering." "Death may knock at every man's door at any moment," replied the fifer, looking still more gloomily at the fire; "I like to occupy my mind upon such subjects, for it often strikes me, I would prefer going out of this world with similar thoughts in my mind." "But how is it you think more upon death at this moment than at other times, Hans? You were always a merry fellow at harvest time; and your guitar never failed being heard at a wake. You certainly never sang a death-song on such occasions." "My happiness is gone," he answered, and pointed to the Duke; "all my anxieties and troubles have been in vain. His star is set, and I----I am his shadow; therefore nothing is left for me. If I had not a wife and child, I would willingly die this very night." "You were, indeed, his faithful shadow," said the young man, moved at these words: "I have always admired your fidelity. Listen, Hans! it will perhaps be some time before we see each other again; and having now time and opportunity to converse together, tell me, if it be not too much to ask, what has bound you so close and exclusively to the fortunes of the Duke?" The man was silent a few minutes, and trimmed the burning embers of the fire. A troubled look beamed in his eyes, leaving Albert in doubt whether he had not touched upon a subject which was painful to his friend, whose countenance he thought was tinged with a passing blush. "That question," he at length replied, "refers to a certain occurrence, which I never willingly speak about. But you are right, sir, in your conjecture, and it appears to me also that we shall not meet again for some time; therefore I will satisfy your curiosity. Have you ever heard of the insurrection called, 'Poor Conrad'?"