A sudden outbreak of angry voices in the street ahead startled Stewart from his thoughts. A section of soldiers was halted before a house at whose door a violent controversy was in progress between their sergeant and a wrinkled old woman. "I tell you we must have him," the sergeant shouted, as though for the twentieth time. "And I tell you his wife is dying," shrieked the woman. "He has permission from his captain." "I know nothing about that. My orders are to gather in all stragglers." "It is only a question of a few hours." "He must come now," repeated the sergeant, doggedly. "Those are the orders. If he disobeys them--if I am compelled to use force--he will be treated as a deserter. Will you tell him, or must I send my men in to get him?" The sunken eyes flamed with rage, the wrinkled face was contorted with hate--but only for an instant. The flame died; old age, despair, the habit of obedience, reasserted themselves. A tear trickled down the cheek--a tear of helplessness and resignation. "I will tell him, sir," she said, and disappeared indoors. The sergeant turned back to his men, cursing horribly to himself. Suddenly he spat upon the pavement in disgust. "A devil's job!" he muttered, and took a short turn up and down, without looking at his men. In a moment the old woman reappeared in the door. "Well, mother?" he demanded, gruffly. "I have told him. He will be here at once." As she spoke, a fair-haired youth of perhaps twenty appeared on the threshold and saluted. His eyes were red with weeping, but he held himself proudly erect. "Hermann Gronau?" asked the sergeant. "Yes." "Fall in!" With a shriek of anguish, the woman threw her arms about him and strained him close. "My boy!" she moaned. "My youngest one--my baby--they are taking you also!" "I shall be back, mother, never fear," he said, and loosened her arms gently. "You will write me when--when it is over." "Yes," she promised, and he took his place in the ranks. "March!" cried the sergeant, and the section tramped away with Gronau in its midst. At the corner, he turned and waved his hand in farewell to the old woman. For a moment longer she stood clutching at the door and staring at the place where he had vanished, then turned slowly back into the house. CHAPTER IV THE MYSTERY OF THE SATIN SLIPPERS Stewart, awakening from the contemplation of this poignant drama--one of thousands such enacting at that moment all over Europe--realized that he was lingering unduly and hastened his steps. At the end of five minutes, he was again in the wide Franzstrasse, and, turning the last corner, saw his landlady standing at her door, looking anxiously up and down the street. Her face brightened with relief when she saw him--a relief so evidently deep and genuine that Stewart was a little puzzled by it.