I could not utter a word; what was there to say? The Prince continued to speak of his grief at the shedding of so much blood, and expressed his dissatisfaction that his countrymen should have placed themselves in alliance with foreigners. I had no time nor mind for such discussions. I asked if the news had been sent to my daughter. He appeared disturbed by my question, and somewhat unwillingly answered, "I considered that a father's right and duty." He added, that this evening a sanitary commission would depart, with whom I and the Colonel's wife could go to the front. I know not what suggested the thought, but suddenly it occurred to me: The Prince would never make a minister of you; you were only a clever story-teller, who drove away the recollections of his own sufferings by the recital of your life-history. And of that was I thinking all the while I was talking to the Prince of other things. The demeanor of the Prince towards me seemed cold and distant. He called after me without extending his hand, "Adieu, Herr Waldfried!" Formerly, I had been called "dear Waldfried;" yes, at times, "dear friend." I mention this here, although it first struck me like a waking dream, during the journey. I was glad to be independent, and to be relieved from rendering homage to princes, and troubling myself as to whether I was addressed in one way or another. Although in my inmost heart I believe in a constitutional monarchy, I tell you, keep yourself free, and be dependent on no stranger's favor, or else you will be the most degraded of slaves. But now I must tell of my sad journey; and I think of the saying of the Colonel's: Human nature in its elevated moods can endure much. I came to Bertha's house. My heart beat wildly at the thought of the news I should bring to her. But as I ascended the steps, Professor Rolunt, the Colonel's friend, approached me, and said, "After the first dreadful shock, you were your daughter's first thought. She has asked for you." "And so she knows of it?" "Yes! I have told her, and we are off in an hour." "We!" "Yes! I go with her; and keep up Bertha's spirits. Should the worst have happened, we must bear it all." I went to Bertha. Speechless, she threw herself upon my neck, clasped me to her bosom, and wept and sobbed; nor could I utter one word. "Father!" she said, at last, "you will remain here with the children--or will you take them home with you?" "No, I will go with you. Don't refuse me. Don't let us waste useless words. I will go with you." We departed in the evening. We rested in beds, upon which soon should lie the sorely wounded. But, indeed, we, too, bore painful wounds in our hearts. CHAPTER XII. It was well that Rolunt accompanied us; for I had not the strength to support Bertha in this wearisome journey, and to distract and lead her away from her quiet, noiseless brooding, and her counting the minutes as they slowly passed.