“Who knows,” said Hans, as he pledged his guest by ringing his wine-glass against the other's, “if, when we meet again, thou wouldst sit down at the table with such as me?”
“How so, Hanserl?” asked the boy, in astonishment.
“I mean, Master Franz, that you may become a colonel, or perhaps a general, with, mayhap, the 'St. Joseph' at your button-hole, or the 'Maria Teresa' around your neck; and if so, how could you take your place at the board with the poor toy-maker?”
“I am not ashamed to do so now,” said Frank, haughtily; “and the Emperor cannot make me more a gentleman than my birth has done. Were I to be ashamed of those who befriended me, I should both disgrace my rank and name together.”
“These are good words, albeit too proud ones,” said Hans, thoughtfully. “As a guide through life, pride will do well enough when the roads are good and your equipage costly; but when you come upon mountain-paths and stony tracts, with many a wild torrent to cross, and many a dark glen to traverse, humility even a child's humility will give better teaching.”
“I have no right to be other than humble!” said the boy; but the flashing brightness of his eyes, and the heightened color of his cheek, seemed to contradict his words.
For a while the conversation flagged, or was maintained in short and broken sentences, when at length Frank said,
“You will often go to see them, Hanserl, won't you? You'll sit with them, too, of an evening? for they will feel lonely now; and my father will like to tell you his stories about home, as he calls it still.”
“That will I,” said Hans; “they are the happiest hours of my life when I sit beside that hearth.”
Frank drew his hand across his eyes, and his lips quivered as he tried to speak.