CHAPTER IV.
"Father, I did not hitherto wish to speak of it, but now I must tell you," said Ludwig, one day.
"For God's sake, what can have happened?"
"Nothing bad, quite the contrary; I am resolved to remain here. I did not wish to tell you until peace was restored, but I think that this is the time when the news will do you most good."
I deemed it my duty to advise him to delay before making up his mind, but he replied, "I have considered everything. Whatever a man may achieve in this world, be it ever so great or important, if he has not done his whole duty to his parents, all else is vain. I remain with you, and to public duties I will devote as much of my life as can be spared from you."
Thus spoke my son, whose roving life in America we thought had made him harsh and cold.
I inquired whether he had already consulted his wife. He replied that there was no doubt of her consent, because she would simply and gladly consent as soon as he should tell her that it was for the best.
Conny at once consented. She mentioned that her father had always prophesied that she would some time return to Europe. She now felt particularly happy, because, if it should turn out that a German confederation with an emperor at its head would be established, the ideal of her father's life, and for the sake of which he went into exile, would be realized.
While our eyes were wandering from the warlike past to a peaceful future, we were thrilled over and over again by the thought that our army stood like a gigantic wall in the path of the advancing Bourbaki.
Ludwig told me that, in connection with some friends, he intended to start a new building association for the public benefit. He had found the starting point with some former friends from the gymnasium. Their object was to locate some grand industrial establishments in the country, in order to avert the threatened overcrowding of the large cities, by giving profitable employment to the dwellers in the rural districts. He intended to transfer his mill to the company, and also to enlarge it.
Martha, who had remained with her mother in the city, sent us a letter from Julius. He wrote about the great sortie from Paris, and what heavy sacrifices it had cost us. He was very happy to have been able to give proofs of his valor, and he had received the Iron Cross of the first class on the field of battle.
Madam Von Rontheim begged me to hold myself in readiness to return to the city within a few days.
It was towards evening when the sounds of great rejoicing were heard in the village. All flocked together, and we heard loud cries, "Rothfuss is here again!" Rothfuss came with two horses harnessed to his vehicle, and two following in the rear.
"I bring four captured Frenchmen," he cried: "I have bought them honestly. Of course I paid only for their hides. They are not much more than skin and bone anyway, but in a week I shall feed four new horses into their skins. When they taste the fodder from our mountain forests, they will think, 'What a fine country Germany is; there they feed horses on sweet herbs.'"
Rothfuss also brought the great news that our German troops had pushed Bourbaki and his men to the wall; just as might have been done in a tavern fight.
We did not quite understand what he really meant. Then Joseph brought the newspaper. Alsace was free; and his joy over the victory was enhanced by the certainty that his timber in the Hagenau forest was now all safe.
We read about the three days' battle before Belfort; and as long as valor and endurance are remembered, history will have a glorious page to unfold there.
My daughter Johanna came down to enjoy a few days' rest with us. In spite of the great hardships she had undergone, she had become stronger, and looked more cheerful. She wanted to deliver her good news in person. Her daughter had become engaged to a man who had lost his right arm. Christiane had nursed him faithfully, and fallen in love with him, and Johanna is right in saying, "She will always love him the more because of her having to take care of him; she is just the wife for an invalid."
On the very next day, we had a triumphal entry in our village. Carl was well again, but carried his left arm in a sling. Rothfuss harnessed his four "Bourbakis" (they were lean as yet, but lively) and drove Carl and his mother, four-in-hand. Down at the saw-mill, Marie mounted beside Carl and rode along into the village.
Rothfuss stopped before the house of the meadow-farmer. Nobody was to be seen there, but all cried, "Hurrah for the meadow-farmer!"
"You must say the old farmer," commanded Rothfuss, "because Carl is now the young meadow farmer. Come out, old fellow; Napoleon had to abdicate, too. Give up your flail to Carl, the conqueror."
At last the door opened. The old meadow farmer came out and welcomed Carl. It seemed as if the cheering would never end. Carl becomes the meadow farmer! After this everything is possible.
"Have you any news of my faithful nurse, the Captain's wife?" asked Carl, when he entered our room; and the old woman, who had not heard a word, also asked, "How is the worthy lady?"
Just then, as it happened, a letter arrived from her.