"Ah, as long as folks will do that last," said the old woman, sighing, "they're sure to win the day. But their evil tempers, and evil passions, and piques, and private interests, tugging at their hearts like so many evil spirits, part them asunder; and then the Evil One laughs!"
"Well," said Franz, "all that's beyond me; and you can't expect a young fellow just come from such a stirring scene, to be much in the humour for preaching: but, however, you haven't heard all yet. Colonel Dittfurt could not make this out—(no wonder!)—it would have made him think very small of us, if he had. 'Well,' says he, 'I can't believe that, young man; for I've seen your Commander-in-Chief,' says he, 'frequently rallying you to-day,' says he, 'and rushing past me on a milk-white horse,' says he. Well; when that got about, somebody wiser than the rest said dying men could often see further than others into the spirit-world; and that, 'twas very likely, one of the saints, of a martial turn, had really headed us, though invisibly; and that therefore it was most agreeable to reason to suppose it was St. James."
"St. James? why St. James?" said the old woman slowly. "Was he a fighting man?"
"There you pose me," replied Franz; "but, you see, he's the patron saint of the city!"
"Ah, that explains!" said his mother. "And did the Colonel die upon that?"
"Oh no, he's lingering now, but quite given over; and has a priest with him. Father Donay—you know him, mother?"
"No, I don't."
"You know of him then, and that's much the same—almost as good."
"Or almost as bad, Franz. I don't know any good of him."