The astonishing Teuton erudition again! Gard had to marvel at it once more. This German was, by rare exception, ingratiating. They finally introduced themselves. Herr Furstenheimer of Wuerttemberg--a farmer. Gard concluded he did not dislike Germans of the south. Their temperaments, voices, manners, are somewhat softer than those of the north. "I haven't been in Cologne in twenty years," Furstenheimer explained. "Just stopped off. I wonder if you--I see you too are a tourist--happen to be going my way. Excuse me, but that would be odd, wouldn't it?" "Yes--I'm bound for Rotterdam." "Rotterdam--- why so am I!" ejaculated the German in a happy moment. "I'm on my way to visit my sister there. I haven't seen her for years. It's really shameful. What train do you take?" "The two o'clock. I wish you might be going along. One gets somewhat bored traveling alone." "I'm the same way. I like company. I had intended going on to-night, but this Cologne one hears so much about is disappointingly dull, isn't it? Nothing to see." They conversed in German to Kirtley's linguistic satisfaction. "But I'm stopping off at Aix-la-Chapelle," he had to say. "That's at four. Then I'm taking the late train." "What is there at Aix? I don't remember." "I want to see Charlemagne's tomb." "Oh, _so_? That can't be duller than Cologne, can it? I don't see that I would be losing any time by it either. I'll tell you what I'll do. If I decide to join you--and I hope I shall--you'll see me at the two o'clock. But if I don't--well, Aufwiedersehen!--let us hope--and I am delighted to have met you." Gard was gratified when the sociable Wuerttemberger arrived at the station. They went on to Aix in a compartment full of _militaires_. The countryside, swimming in the sunlight, lay tidy and dimpling in the gentle arms of a peace and prosperity that made the newspaper talk of a campaign seem unreal and preposterous. Furstenheimer appeared to have only the interests of a small land-holder, and gossiped about his farm, his horses and prices. He was not apparently concerned about the war excitement. Agriculture in Wuerttemberg was more important. Like most Germans, whether there was war or no war, seemed much the same thing with him. Either must be taken naturally and philosophically like a state of Nature. Furstenheimer was not fond of being away from home. To be frank, his brother-in-law in Rotterdam had got into financial straits and his own sister was ill. They had become almost strangers in the long separation. And that was not right, _was_ it? He really had had to go. When they arrived at Aix--the German Aachen--they decided to leave their grips in an inn, across the station Platz, so that they could conveniently dine there and be near at hand for the express. Then they started for the cathedral which, with its eleven centuries, loomed under a lofty octagon from a low hill. CHAPTER XXXIX THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE