"I cannot bid you welcome to my house," he said, gloomily and harshly, "for you belong to the enemies of my king and country, but I am bound to give you quarters; and," he continued, looking compassionately at the pale young officer, "I would rather give quarters to the wounded than to the sound."
"It is no question of friend or foe!" replied Fritz, in a conciliatory voice; "it is a question of Christian charity to a poor wounded man!"
"Come then!" said the old man, simply, and walked up to the horse.
Fritz Deyke let the lifeless form slide gently into the old man's arms; then dismounting, he tied his horse to the low garden railings, and together they bore the lifeless form to the house.
"Up here," said the old man, pointing to the stairs which led from the hall to the comfortable rooms above.
Fritz Deyke went up first, carefully supporting the lieutenant's head, whilst the old man followed, bearing him.
They entered a long passage with doors on each side.
The young girl stood waiting for them, and hastened forwards to open the door of a large room, with two windows looking towards the courtyard; it was furnished plainly but with some elegance, and a snow-white bed was prepared for the sufferer.
Fritz Deyke, with the help of the old man, laid the wounded officer gently down upon it.
"Now, young man!" said his host, looking gravely at the cuirassier, "your officer is safe, and he shall want for nothing that my house can afford,--the house of the Brewer Lohmeier," he added, with a look of dignified satisfaction, "that you may know whose guest you are. Come now, we will take your horse into the stable; and," he continued somewhat confidentially, "whilst you are here, keep others away if you can."