The old man shrugged his broad shoulders.
"It may be, daughter," he bent down and kissed her, "but who can tell? The Prussians, to-day, said not."
Then, sitting in a wooden chair by the table, she, standing and listening, Bettina's hand in hers, he told all he had heard at Jena and described their adventures, weary little Bettina sleepily listening. And he told how the Prussian soldiers had gone early to bed because of the damp and the fog, and of how they had no cloaks, and how, the bread giving out, they had been on half rations for some days.
"But their spirits are brave, daughter," he added, "and you never heard such boasting. They are certain of victory; certain, Anna. Prince Hohenlohe was with them this afternoon, and he laughed like a boy when a soldier declared that he would catch one Frenchman, another two, a third, four, and so on. You never heard such boasting."
Frau Weyland shook her head, her nightcap bobbing.
"Boasting, father, never won a prize yet. It is doing that counts, and the Emperor was out in such weather, studying the field, and the Prussians sleeping. Ach, I do not find that promising."
Then suddenly she ran to her father, she clung to him like a child, her blue eyes gazing up into his like Bettina's.
"Ah, father," her lips quivered, "if there should be a battle and my Kaspar——"
The old man wrapped her in his strong arms. She was his only child and the best of daughters.
"There will be a battle, dear Anna," he said quite solemnly; "it is war, now, and there must be. But why should harm come to Kaspar? Look at me——"