The old man's lips trembled as he spoke, and his eyes filled with tears. The hussar took the writing from his hand and read it through, the other watching meanwhile every line of the young man's face, to see what impression the perusal would make on him. "Well, sir, what do you say to it?" he asked when the young officer had finished reading. "Would you condemn me for anything in that prayer?" The other folded the paper and returned it to the old man. "I should not condemn you," he replied gently. He appeared to be much moved. "Now may God bless you for those words!" exclaimed the priest. "Would that you were my judge!" And, indeed, he was his judge at that moment; for he was no other than Richard Baradlay, the son of him over whose body the prayer had been offered. "But let me give your Reverence a piece of advice," added the young man. "First, stay here quietly in your room until you are summoned. Visit no one and make your complaint to no one. You cannot be found guilty of the offence charged against you. But if you should undertake to defend yourself, I could not answer for the consequences. Just stay here in your room, and if you are sent for, answer the summons. Go whither you are called, and hear in silence what is said to you. When that is over, bow yourself out and hasten back to your hotel without saying a word to any one on the way or answering a single question." "But I shall be taken for a blockhead," objected the other. "No, believe me, silence is a passport that will carry a man half-way around the world." "Very well, I will do as you direct; only I hope the process will be brief. The Vienna air is costly to breathe." "Don't worry in the least about that, reverend father. If some one has compelled you to make the journey against your will, you may be sure he will pay your score." The old man wondered not a little at these words, and would gladly have inquired who the unknown "some one" was. "But now my engagements call me away," concluded the young officer, and he took his leave before the other could question him further. Soon after he had gone a waiter appeared with coffee, which, in spite of the old priest's protestations that he never took any breakfast and was in general a very light eater, the German domestic insisted on leaving upon the table. At length, as the coffee was there on his hands, the reverend gentleman proceeded to drink it in God's name; for it would have to be paid for in any case. The warm breakfast did him good. The servant now appeared, to carry away the breakfast service. The old gentleman had learned one German word on his journey, and he hastened to make use of it.