Carl's mother, on the contrary, did not stay in her house for a minute. She would approach one group of soldiers after another, and ask each man if he had a mother at home. And then she would begin to talk of her Carl, how he was in the lancers, and how they could hunt through every regiment and not find a better or a handsomer fellow. The two sons, who were working as carpenters, had estranged themselves from their mother. They lived down in the valley, and did not even visit her on Sundays. They boasted in the taverns that they could sing French songs. While all this bustle was going on, I was constantly searching for Martella. Rothfuss was of opinion that she had escaped in male attire; for, wherever he asked after Lerz, the baker,--he had quickly lost all traces of him, however,--he was told of a young man that had been in his company, and who would never enter the room with him. The Colonel had, of course, no time to sympathize with my concern about Martella, and once when I spoke of her he said: "We should be glad to be thus rid of her. Such a creature does not, after all, belong in our family. You and mother have very likely been wasting all your kindness on an unworthy person." I did not agree with him. Yes, now at last I could understand many things in Martella' s disposition that had heretofore been mysteries to me. But I dared not talk about them, and the time to mourn for a single grief had not arrived. CHAPTER II. On the evening of the last day of July, the Colonel returned, heated from the effects of a long ride. A sharpshooter brought in a despatch. He opened it, and forthwith sent his adjutant off; then he asked me to have a good bottle of wine brought up, and to sit down beside him. He confided to me that his detachment was getting ready to march, that he would move off by daylight, and that he would leave but a few men behind to attend to the campfires. I became much moved on Bertha's account, and asked the Colonel whether he had any wishes which he desired to have attended to. "No," answered he, "my will is in the hands of Herr Offenheimer, the lawyer. But the time is come for me to speak to you, dear father, of myself. Perhaps we shall never be together again. I do not wish to leave the world and not be really understood by you."