"The noble martyr died. He was buried in the village at the foot of the fortress. "While these things were going on, there was dancing and dining at Court, and Metternich was writing witty _billet-doux_. "You, of course, have never heard of these things. "Through the bars of our prison, we could look out into the fortress-yard and see the coffin placed on the wagon that was to carry it to the grave. But why should I revive the anger and sense of disgrace that filled our hearts at that moment? And who, on the other hand, would have the right to condemn us prisoners if, when at last free, we should indulge in deeds of vengeance? "Your Highness will understand that I am only telling you of these matters so that you may have an idea of the sacrifices that were made to bring about the result which is now to be consummated through a struggle of life and death." "I know it--I know it well; pray go on." I plucked up my courage and continued: "My parents died while I was a prisoner. When I was at last discharged, I had lost all taste for a clerical calling. I was down in the village standing by the smithy, saw the blazing fire and watched the heavy hammers, and I yearned for just such hard manual labor. I begged the smith to take me as his apprentice, and he at once handed me a hammer. I was there but a week, when the father of the young man who had died in prison came and took me to his estate." "And you married his daughter?" "Yes." "And does she still live?" "No; she died, as I am unfortunately forced to believe, through grief on account of the desertion of our youngest son just before the war of 1866." "I know it, I know it. I hear that your son is serving in the French army in Algiers? I know," he said, interrupting himself when he saw my painful agitation, "what grief this son has caused you. If it were in your power to send him word, he might, if he would deliver himself up of his own will, be received back into the army with some trifling punishment, and might afterward by his bravery distinguish himself, and all would be well again. But, of course, at present, communication is impossible either through diplomatic or private channels." I was obliged to admit that I did not know of Ernst's whereabouts. Strange it is how a poet's words will suddenly come to one's aid.