Our contract with Franz provided that we should receive no compensation until after his merchandise had safely reached Basel, but then our remuneration was to be large. Max had no doubt as to the safe arrival of the caravan at Basel, and he rejoiced at the prospect. I tried to reduce the rosy hue of his dreams, but failed. I suggested that we might have fighting ahead of us harder than any we had known, though we had given and taken some rough knocks on two of our expeditions. Max laughed and longed for the fray; he was beginning to live. The fray came quickly enough after we reached the Black Forest, and the fight was sufficiently warm to suit even enthusiastic Max. He and I were wounded; one of our men-at-arms was killed, and Franz's life was saved only by an heroic feat of arms on Max's part. The robbers were driven off; we spent a fortnight in a near-by monastery, that our wounds might heal, and again started for Basel. During the last week in March we approached Basel. Max had saved the merchant's life; we had protected the caravan from robbery; and good Franz was grateful. Notwithstanding our sure reward, Max was gloomy. The future had lost its rosiness; his wound did not readily heal; Basel was half a hundred leagues off our road to Burgundy. Why did we ever come to Switzerland? Everything was wrong. But no man knows what good fortune may lurk in an evil chance. At the close of a stormy day we sighted Basel from the top of a hill, and soon the lights, one by one, began to twinkle cosily through the gloaming. All day long drizzling rain and spitting snow had blown in our faces like lance points, driven down the wind straight from the icy Alps. We were chilled to the bone; in all my life I have never beheld a sight so comforting as the home lights of the quaint old Swiss city. Franz soon found a wherry and, after crossing the Rhine, we marched slowly down the river street, ducking our heads to the blast. Within half an hour we passed under a stone archway and found ourselves snug in the haven of our merchant's courtyard. Even the sumpter mules rejoiced, and gave forth a chorus of brays that did one's heart good. Every tone of their voices spoke of the warm stalls, the double feed of oats, and the great manger of sweet hay that awaited them. Before going into the house Max gave to each mule a stroke of his hand in token of affection. Surely this proud automaton of Hapsburg was growing lowly in his tastes. In other words, nature had captured his heart and was driving out the inherited conventions of twenty generations. Five months of contact with the world had wrought a greater cure than I had hoped five years would work. I was making a man out of the flesh and blood of a Hapsburg. God only knows when the like had happened before.