Our family was so widely extended that we found it quite easy to trace a distant relationship to our newly discovered friends. The young wife was the daughter of a high official. Though living in the woods, she did not neglect her intellectual life, and found good music of great assistance in that regard. She had also been able to bring up sturdy boys; and we were quite pleased to learn that her only rule with them had been _truthfulness and obedience_. These two requisites had been firmly and inexorably insisted upon, and as a result the boys did their parents great credit. The new element that Annette had thus introduced into our circle often caused us to forget that the very next hour might bring us the saddest news. CHAPTER III. It was eventide. The clear tones of the village bell filled the valley and were echoed back from the mountains opposite. The young woods down by the stone wall seemed transparent with the reflection of the rosy sunset, and all looked as if bathed in golden clouds. We were sitting in the arbor, and every one was probably thinking to himself, "Perhaps at this very moment men of the same nation--yea, brothers--may be murdering one another on the battle-field." In a low voice, and with an absence of all that resembled her usual excessive excitability, Annette remarked that my wife ought to feel very happy to think that she had planted yonder wood. At that moment we saw a carriage coming up the hill. "It is father!" exclaimed the daughter of the kreis-director, and ran to meet him. We observed that he opened the carriage door for her, and that she entered it and remained with him. Annette remarked that she had given orders that all telegrams should be sent to Herr Von Rontheim, who would forward them to us as speedily as possible. This must be a matter of importance, however, as he had come in person. But let his tidings be what they may, we would stand by and support one another. Rontheim entered. He brought us the news of a great victory gained by the Austrians, who were said to have penetrated into Silesia. His manner of imparting this was in accord with our feelings, and was quite free from any spirit of rejoicing. A brief telegram had brought the news. Rontheim seemed quite ill at ease and soon left, taking his daughter and Annette with him. A little while after that, Joseph arrived, and told me privately that he wished that Richard and I would come over to his house. I was struck with fear, and felt that there was bad news in store for me. Without knowing why, I felt alarmed. When I entered Annette's apartment, Rontheim was seated at a table on which there was a lighted lamp. In his hand there was a newspaper. He did not rise to receive me, but requested me to be seated. He grasped my hand firmly while he said, "You are a strong man, a just father--no father can be blamed for what his child may do.--Your son Ernst has deserted."