I admired the surpassing skill with which she turned a conversation verging on delicate ground. "You are unquestionably right, Fräulein," my old colleague hastened to reply, with the utter ingenuousness of the man of learning. "Monsieur Vignerte knows only too well that the whole library, manuscripts included, is at his disposal." "Hush!" said Fräulein von Graffenfried, turning round. "Here's the King." A group of horsemen had just appeared opposite us, on the other side of the square, in the courtyard of the castle. There was immediately a volley of sharp commands. Cavalry and infantry stiffened to attention. With a noise like sheets of metal tearing, bayonets were fixed to the muzzles of rifles. Three thousand swords flashed out, three thousand tongues of lightning. Trumpets and fifes began a slow march, a kind of summons to arms, very sharp and strident, but quite in keeping with the keen December morning. When it stopped, there burst out one wild universal cheer, solid, raucous and prolonged, like the roll of a wave which never breaks. The little group of horsemen advanced at the trot in the huge empty square. The King of Würtemberg, in field-marshal's uniform, was in front on a black horse. On his right was the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus, in general's uniform, very plain. On his left General von Eichhorn displayed all the glories of the Great General Staff. Close by was young Duke Joachim, looking very well in the blue tunic of a lieutenant in the Detmold Dragoons. Behind them came a display of the finest uniforms in the German Army: a colossal officer of the White Cuirassiers; an officer of the Guard Artillery in black and gold with crimson facings; grey Hussars, a green Uhlan. "Where's the Grand Duchess?" I murmured to Marçais. "What! You call yourself an officer of the Reserve! Where do you expect to find the colonel at a review? At the head of his regiment, of course. Look, there's Colonel von Mudra of the 182nd. The review begins with his regiment. He's the man just in front of the Staff. He will drop back into line when his unit has been inspected." At a gallop the Royal group passed between the companies of the regiment, which smartly opened out for the manœuvre. The white and black standards were lowered at their passage. Then came a sharp order and the ranks closed up. It was the turn of the Detmold Dragoons. Colonel von Becker, slim and straight, a fine figure in his blue tunic, white gauntlets and black-spiked helmet with its silver eagle, rode up to the King, whom he saluted with a broad sweep of his sabre, presenting to him his superb regiment, a host of giants on motionless giant steeds. This solid mass gave me such an impression of overwhelming force that I involuntarily pressed Marçais' hand. "H'm!" he murmured. "Our Cuirassiers and Spahis will have their work cut out if it ever comes."