Colonel von Falkenstein opened the door and found Philip's first acquaintance standing conveniently near the door—in fact, somewhat suspiciously so. "Eavesdropping, eh?" said the colonel. "I was only waiting to show the young man out, Your Excellency." "Oh! Well, to reward your diligence, you may send Martin hither, and then go down to the stable and tell one of the men to go to the inn and ask for a horse belonging to—let me see—to Philip Reinhart. Tell him to bring the horse up here and take good care of him. I would send you, only I know you would be afraid of the horse. Do you understand, or must I say it all over again?—The booby plagues my life out," he added as the man disappeared in a hurry, "but you see, he is a widow's son and I can't turn him away, though I have to rate him now and then. Discipline must be upheld in such a family as mine, or all goes to ruin.—There! Is that gray kitten playing with my seals again? I will have them all drowned to-morrow. Cats are always torments." So saying, he lifted the small offender very gently from his writing-table, stroked it till it purred loudly, and then restored it to the side of its mother, where it remained for about the space of a flash of lightning. Martin now made his appearance, a tall, gray-headed man like his master, with the scar of a fearful sabre-cut making his face more grim than it was by nature. "Oh, here you are! Martin, you remember Reinhart the smith, eh? Well, this is his son come to ask news of his father.—And why does every widow and orphan in the country come to me for news of their friends?" cried the old man, angrily. "Can I help people being killed when they go in war?" Apparently, Martin did not think this riddle capable of a solution, for he remained at "attention," and said never a word. "Well, well!—Philip Reinhart, this man is an old comrade of your father's, and loved him well. He can tell you all about him.—Martin, take him with you and make him comfortable, and see that the men take care of his horse. You have a good horse, eh? You would make a famous trooper yourself; would he not, Martin?" "Too light," said Martin. "Nonsense! You think every one too light who is not as big as your master or yourself—Eh! What's this?" as the irrepressible gray kitten came swarming up his back as if he had been a tree. "These torments of cats! I will have them all drowned to-morrow." "I can drown them to-night if Your Excellency desires," said Martin. "No, no! You have enough to do; and besides, why should you hurt the little innocent things?" answered his master, hastily and somewhat angrily. "What harm have they done you, that you are in such a hurry to kill them?" Martin smiled grimly, but made no reply.