He bowed to us all, and was stepping towards the door when Frederick detained him.
“Reverend consistorial councillor, may I ask you a favour?”
“Pray, tell me what it is, colonel?”
“I conclude from your conversation that you are penetrated equally by the religious and the military spirit. In that case you might do me a great pleasure.”
I listened with interest. What could Frederick mean?
“The fact is,” he continued, “that my little wife here is full of scruples and doubts of all sorts. Her opinion is that, from a Christian point of view, war is not quite permissible. I, of course, know to the contrary, for there is no alliance closer than that between the professions of priest and soldier, but I have not the eloquence to make this clear to my wife. Would you then, reverend consistorial councillor, so far favour us as to give us, to-morrow or next day, an hour of your conversation, with the view——”
“Oh, with great pleasure,” the clergyman said, interrupting him. “Will you give me your address?”
Frederick gave him his card, and the day and hour of the visit he asked for were fixed at once. Then we remained alone with our aunt.
“Does your intercourse with this friend really afford you consolation?” asked Frederick.
“Consolation? There is no consolation for me any more here below. But he speaks so much and so beautifully about the things which I like most to hear of—about death and mourning, about the cross and sacrifice and resignation—he paints the world which my poor Godfrey had to leave, and from which I long to be released, as such a vale of misery, of corruption, of sin, and of advancing ruin.... And so it seems to me a little less mournful that my child has been called away. He is assuredly in heaven, and here on this earth——”