'The Kaiser!' said the stranger, on which all started to their feet and drank the toast, standing with their caps off. Though wearing the usual spike-helmet, a plain blue surtout, with silver shoulder-straps, and a little eight-pointed cross at his neck, in the closely shaven face, the resolute mouth and square jaws, the stern grey eyes and aquiline nose of their visitor, they all recognised the Count Von Moltke--the spirit of the war, 'that embodied fate who prepared in mystery and gloom the blows that were to fall on mighty armaments, and in a few weeks to reduce great military powers to ruin and humiliation.' 'I have news for you, gentlemen,' said he. 'The Emperor has resigned the command of the French army to Marshal Bazaine, so he will have to make the great stand at Metz, where he has one hundred and forty thousand men, with two hundred and eighty pieces of cannon.' He then put two fingers to the peak of his helmet, and walked slowly away, leaving them to discuss the probable turn events might take now; but jollity was soon resumed. Charlie was rather silent and thoughtful; for sooth to say, the vivid nature of his dream still haunted him; and Heinrich, who knew well where his thoughts were, gave him a clap on the epaulette, and began to sing a verse of an old love song: THE CARRIER PIGEON. 'They that behold me little dream How wide my spirit soars from them, And, borne on fancy's pinions, roves To seek the glorious form it loves. 'Know that a faithful herald flies To bear her image to my eyes, My constant thought for ever telling How fair she is, all else excelling!' 'Pass the bottle, Carl,' he added; 'let us be merry; weep when you must, but laugh when you can. Vive la bagatelle! as these Frenchmen have it.' At that moment a Uhlan came spurring into camp with letters for the brigade from the field post; those for the 95th were soon distributed: there was one for Heinrich from Herminia, with another for Charlie enclosed, and both became at once deep in their contents by the last light of the sun. Ernestine's letter was very long, and so crossed and recrossed that the perusal of it occupied a long time. Ere he had read a few lines, Heinrich said: 'I do not know whether I should show you this, Carl.' 'What?' 'A passage in Herminia's letter.' 'About whom?' asked Charlie anxiously. 'Ernestine--my sister.' 'Read it, pray; anything is better than suspense.' 'Herminia writes, "Poor Ernestine seems to fret fearfully. There is a flush on her cheeks such as often precedes but more often follows pallor; and all her actions, figure, and manner are indicative of listlessness and ill-health."' 'My poor darling!' said Charlie, in a low agitated voice. '"Surely her mamma will have some pity upon her," continued Herminia; "the Baron Grünthal has returned to Aix, and though his gout still continues----"' 'Praised be Plutus!' commented Charlie; 'I wish the nasty old beast was at the bottom of the Red Sea.'