It was really Lieutenant von Steinach, who had just arrived with his detachment, joyously welcomed by the garrison of the fort. The officers greeted each other, and the soldiers openly expressed their satisfaction in having reached the place where they expected rest and refreshment after the fatiguing march. There was a pleasant bustle going on when George suddenly appeared, hastily saluting his lieutenant, and then darted like a bird of prey into the midst of his comrades, where he seemed to be looking for something.
Father Leonhard now went down to welcome the young officer, whom he had not seen since his departure from Cattaro; for, owing to the peculiar method of warfare, the various detachments of the regiment were usually separated from each other. At the foot of the stairs Gerald came toward him, accompanied by the officer commanding the fort. The meeting was cordial, even affectionate, but necessarily brief. Gerald promised to seek the reverend gentleman as soon as possible, and then prepared to follow his comrade, but in the very act of departure he turned back and asked:
"Has George told you about his foundling?"
"What foundling? I don't know a word of the affair."
"George now has a new charge, which, to be sure is rather oddly suited to him. He has set up for an adopted father, and intends to bring his protégée to you. You will hear the particulars from him. Au revoir, your reverence."
The gentlemen went on, and Father Leonhard shook his head with a puzzled look. He could not imagine his quarrelsome parishioner in the position intimated, but he was not to remain in doubt long, for just at that moment George entered the corridor with a young girl whom he led by the hand like a child.
"The saints preserve me!" cried the priest, who was not at all prepared for this spectacle. "What is this you are bringing me?"
"A savage!" replied the young soldier with great solemnity. "But you needn't be frightened, your reverence, she is perfectly tame."
Father Leonhard gazed in astonishment at the delicate little creature, who scarcely reached to her companion's shoulder. She was a very young girl, hardly beyond childhood, slender and shy as a chamois. The dark, southern face, with its childish features and dark eyes, had an expression of timid submission and gentleness, while clothing so scanty and miserable was only found among the poorest shepherd tribes of the country.
"This is Jovica!" replied George, in a tone which seemed to imply that those few words told the whole story; but this explanation did not satisfy the priest, who desired to know who Jovica was and where she came from, so George was obliged to condescend to a longer narrative.