"But I should think," said Iduna, before whose mind stood Theodor Körner's picture in all its glory, "it is one of the noblest virtues, the fruit of glorious enthusiasm," and she added a few passages, which she had retained in her memory from her most successful theme upon the Lieutenant of Hussars. "Enthusiasm is all very fine," said Salomon, "but who has time for it before a battle! Men must clean their weapons, count their cartridges, eat a morsel of commissariat bread. I speak of to-day, because the Knights of the Order did not know that nutritious food, and when once the troops start, they must listen exactly to the commander's order, march, halt, load, fire! Enthusiasm--it is only to be found amongst warlike poets. In battle people are as excited as in a boxing match; they hit out on all sides, they know it is a matter of life or death, they may lose their collars, they see nothing, think nothing, only try to save their own skins. There is nothing more stupid than a soldier in a battle." "You describe it so vividly," said Iduna, "that one might believe you had been present yourself." "Not at a battle, but often at a fight. Besides, where is there any battle now? We live in everlasting peace. No, no my Fräulein! I have merely cast a few glances into the human mind, and if one will discover the truth, one must always assume the contrary of that which poetry asserts. Poetry is merely a beautiful falsehood. But, as I said, the brethren of the Order might be brave even at the time of their decay, but they led a merry life; I wager that they drank as bravely in this dining-hall, as at any drinking party of Lithuanians or Masurens, and that the gaily painted Madonna, with her radiant colours in the window panes, was not the only representative of womanhood, but that also many a high born knight's young lady--" "No, never, Herr Salomon," said Iduna, promptly. The youth was about to spare the maiden's blushes by passing suddenly to the event of the day, when the other ladies and girls declared that it was time to dress, and Iduna was not sorry to leave the highly educated student, who shed the radiance of enlightened human understanding into every corner, in which any illusion still lingered fondly. He knew that few, like himself, stood upon the height of nineteenth century reason. Beate would not be debarred from dressing her friend for the ceremony. She looked beautiful in her veil and white satin robe, but was ghastly pale. Beate advised her to have recourse to artificial aid, but Giulia very decidedly rejected every reminiscence of her past. There she appeared, really like a marble bride; on beholding her, Kuhl remembered how he had once called her so, when Blanden told him of his adventures on the Lago Maggiore. At first sight her beauty gave an impression of pride and coldness, but any one looking more closely recognised the softening influence of internal suffering which overshadowed her features.