First came the regimental band of the nearest garrison, dressed in civilian's clothes--then, under the vigilance of two brightly attired freshmen, the blue, white and golden banner of the fraternity, next the officers accompanied by other freshmen, and finally the active members in whom the dignity, decency and fighting strength of the fraternity were embodied. A gay little crowd of elderly gentlemen, ladies and guests followed in less rigid order. Last came, as always and everywhere, the barefoot children of the village. The procession came to a halt in front of the _Prussian Eagle_, a long-drawn single story structure of frame. The newly added dance hall with its three great windows protruded loftily above the house. The banner was lowered, the horns of the band gave wild, sharp signals to which no one attended, and Pastor Rhode, a sedate man of fifty dressed in the scarf and slashed cap of the order, stepped from the inn door to pronounce the address of welcome. At this moment it happened that one of the two banner bearers who had stood at the right and left of the flag with naked foils, rigid as statues, slowly tilted over forward and buried his face in the green sward. This event naturally put an immediate end to the ceremony. Everybody, men and women, thronged around the fallen youth and were quickly pushed back by the medical fraternity men who were present in various stages of professional development. The medical wisdom of this many-headed council culminated in the cry: "A glass of water!" Immediately a young girl--hot-eyed and loose-haired, exquisite in the roundedness of half maturity--rushed out of the door and handed a glass to the gentlemen who had turned the fainting lad on his back and were loosening scarf and collar. He lay there, in the traditional garb of the fraternity, like a young cavalry man of the time of the Great Elector--with his blue, gold-braided doublet, close-fitting breeches of white leather and mighty boots whose flapping tops swelled out over his firm thighs. He couldn't be above eighteen or nineteen, long and broad though he was, with his cheeks of milk and blood, that showed no sign of down, no duelling scar. You would have thought him some mother's pet, had there not been a sharp line of care that ran mournfully from the half-open lips to the chin. The cold water did its duty. Sighing, the lad opened his eyes--two pretty blue boy's eyes, long lashed and yet a little empty of expression as though life had delayed giving them the harder glow of maturity. These eyes fell upon the young girl who stood there, with hands pressed to her heaving bosom, in an ecstatic desire to help. "Where can we carry him?" asked one of the physicians. "Into my room," she cried, "I'll show you the way."