When my wife came, the old woman said, "You are better off than I am. Your son still lives, but mine is dead. They told me that you once said your son was more than dead. But, tell me, what does it mean to be more than dead? Ah, you do not know. The Prussian sought out the best heart of them all. He knew what he was about. Of all the thousands who say 'mother,' there was no better child than my Carl. Your Ernst is also a good lad. They were born on the same day. Don't you remember? My husband was quite tipsy when he came home that evening. He was gloriously full, and so jolly! He must have known that he was soon to be the father of such a splendid boy. "Oh, my poor Carl! You may hunt the land through, but you will never find so handsome a lad as my Carl. He did not get his good looks from me; but his father was just as good-looking as he--nay, almost more so. "Ah, it will be a long while before you find so pretty a fellow as Carl--one who will sit down beside his mother of a Sunday afternoon and tell her merry jokes, so that her heart may be gladdened, although his own be sad. "Yes, go and seek another such as he! "Don't go away, Waldfried! There is no one left with whom I can talk. Or send Martella--to me she will do." On our way home, my wife gently said, "His regiment was not once in battle." This was the first intimation I had received of her careful reading of the newspapers. Ernst's regiment had not fired a single shot, and all our suffering had been to no purpose. We sent Martella over to the spinner's cottage, where she remained all night. On the following morning, Martella returned. She was quite joyful, and maintained that Ernst had been saved and would soon return to us. She had arranged everything with the old spinner. The two of them would go to the Prince, and the spinner would say to him, "My son is dead! but give me the one who was born on the same day, and wipe out all that stands against him!" Or else the spinner would say, "My tears shall wash away all the charges that stand written against him on the slate." It went hard to make Martella understand that this plan was nothing more than an idle dream. The battle was over, and peace had been concluded. Although Austria was separated from Germany, there was, as yet, no real Germany. While the high contracting parties were framing the chief clauses of their treaty, the Frenchman who was looking over their shoulders took the pen in his own hand and drew a black mark across the page, and called it "the line of the Main." The Major came home, and the joy of Bertha and her children knew no bounds. The Major, however, seemed unable to shake off a deep fit of melancholy. He was a strict disciplinarian. He never allowed himself to say aught against his superiors or their orders; but now, he could not keep down his indignation at the manner in which the war had been conducted. When a nation really goes to war it should be in greater earnest about its work.