There was a loud shout of laughter at this and the man nearest to him punched the accuser in the ribs. “Why, old man, there’s nothing startling in that. We know that he is a spy.” Monsieur de Meinau folded his arms and looked the lieutenant in the eye. “The comrade is trying to have a jest at my expense. Gentlemen, you all know that I am a spy. I have told you myself. Perhaps it was an indiscretion, but—” “No! No!” cried Bernstein, excitedly. “Not that kind of a spy. I say that he is a spy against Austria. He has been in communication with the French troops. I caught him in the act of sending messages through the lines.” Silence fell upon the group of officers surrounding the two men. The force of the accusation was startling—so startling that it sobered them at once. A bucket of water thrown into each of their faces would not have been half so shocking. All of them turned to Monsieur de Meinau. His face was pale, but he did not lose his composure. He was ready for whatever might happen. The chief officer cried sternly: “What have you to say to this?” Monsieur de Meinau’s arms were still folded in the way in which he had often seen Napoleon fold his arms. “Gentlemen,” he said with dignity, “I have been grossly insulted, and under the circumstances I can only do one thing—I demand an instant investigation of the accusation against me. I insist upon a trial—a court martial, if you will.” The audacity of this request had the expected result. It disarmed suspicion at the outset. And his insistence upon a trial only served to strengthen him in the minds of the officers. He was given a trial, but it was largely a perfunctory affair. The lieutenant who made the accusation was, of course, unable to prove his charge. The only witnesses against Schulmeister had fled, and he was triumphantly acquitted. He displayed numerous letters, some real and others forged, to prove that he was a patriot working in the Austrian Secret Service. General Wilhing, who presided over the trial, was profuse in his apologies and insisted upon giving him a letter to the Archduke Charles who was then at Koermoend. Monsieur de Meinau proceeded gayly on his way to the headquarters of the Archduke, arriving with his letters and his never-failing audacity. His Austrian uniform, of course, was an immense asset, which he did not fail to utilize to the fullest extent. He was not only in the confidence of the Austrians, but also in the position of being a “vindicated” man. Thereafter no one could have the temerity to point the finger of suspicion in his direction. Any charge they might make would have the appearance of being a stale and exploded slander. The most important thing for him now was not to be caught in the commission of any overt act.