"Yes. Richard and Ludwig and their wives, and your grandson Wolfgang."
I read the telegram; there it was--they were all coming. Richard was saved. At Bertha's house, he was married to Annette.
Wilhelmi saw me turning pale, and called to a stately Rhenish deputy behind us, one who had brought some good wine of his own raising: "Westerwalder, give us a glass of your best Rüdesheimer."
O how the drink refreshed me! Then Wilhelmi continued: "I have more to tell you, for now you are strong enough to bear the joyful news. Your children are already here. The telegram had been delayed, and they arrived half an hour in advance of it. They could not push through to this place, and so they went to the house of one of Annette's relations, with whom Offenheimer lives. That is what I am to tell you. After the procession we will meet them there."
Wilhelmi had to tell me, first of all, how my children looked. He said that Richard still bore traces of his recent sufferings, but that his eyes would brighten and his whole face light up, whenever he looked at his wife. Wilhelmi regretted that he did not have a son to bring him such a daughter-in-law.
He evidently wanted to cheer me up, for he bade me review in memory the triumphal march of my joys,--my children, my grandchildren, my sons and daughters-in-law, and my great-grandson.
During the last words of Wilhelmi, we heard from afar, a noise as of the roaring sea--a wave of history came rolling onward.
Cannon thundered, bells rang, and on came the great procession; and when the French flags were carried by and fluttered in the gentle breeze, I felt that I had seen the world wing itself for a new flight.
From among the South German troops, a young officer nodded to me. It was Julius. My grandson was among the marching conquerors.
The Emperor comes, and with him, all the heroes. The Emperor steps to the statue of his father, and the old man so greatly exalted by fortune, now becomes an humble son, and lays the captured flags at the feet of his father.