"His father."
"Whose father?"
"Our sergeant's, Ernst Tännling."
"That is not my name."
"Of course! But he has confided to me--he took me, indeed, for a German--that his name was Waldfried. Do you remember that I met you in Paris during the World's Exposition. Your son deserted in 1866, and has a bride. Have I the correct signs now?"
Alas! he had them, and again I heard that Ernst had entered the service in Algiers, and now, probably, was in the onward movement against Germany.
The veteran allowed me no time for reflection. He confided to me, with great urgency and secrecy, that he could be of great service. He knew that I had great influence, and wanted me to conduct him to some officer of high rank; he could be of great service, but must receive liberal pay.
I had learned much in life, but for the first time there stood before me a man who offered me his services as a spy. He had seized my hand, and it seemed as if his touch had soiled it.
I sought further intelligence from him concerning Ernst, but he knew nothing more. I took him with me and handed him over to an officer that lay here. I considered it to be my duty not to discard the dirty, but perhaps useful, tool.
With thoughts of Ernst in my breast, with the consciousness that my only son was in arms against the Fatherland, I was not in the mood to unburden my heart to others; and besides, it was evidently too early. Now, since force yet speaks, the good-will of the oppressed cannot be won.