I was awakened by the sound of a band, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of a regiment of soldiers—solid, rhythmical and earthshaking as the footsteps of the Statue of the Commander.
A regiment of infantry was passing in the street below.
At Carlsruhe, at Mayence, I had heard the same sounds, and even my childish mind could recognise the perfect drill, the perfect discipline, the solidarity of these legions of the German army.
The sun was shining in through the window which Joubert had just flung open; the band was playing, the soldiers marching, life was gay.
"Attention!" cried Joubert, turning from the window. "One!" up I sat. "Two!" out went a leg. "Three!" I was standing on the floor saluting.
I declare, if anyone had put his ear to the door of my bedroom when I was dressing, or rather, being dressed, in the morning, they might have sworn that a company of soldiers were drilling.
Mixed with the slashing of water and the gasps of a child being bathed came Joubert's military commands; the putting on of my small trousers was accompanied by shrill directions taken from the drill-book, and the full-dress inspection would have satisfied the fastidious soul of Maréchal Niel.
After breakfast the carriage was brought to the door, the baggage stowed, and, Joubert, taking the directions from my father, we started for the Schloss Lichtenberg as the clocks of Frankfort were striking eleven.
No warmer or more beautiful autumn morning ever cast its light on Germany. By permission of the German Foreign Office, we had a complete set of road-maps, with our route laid down in red ink, each numbered, and each to be returned to the German Embassy in Paris on the conclusion of our tour.
We did not hurry—time was our own; we stopped sometimes at posthouses, with porches vine-overgrown, where I had plums, Joubert had beer, and my father chatted to the country people, who crowded round our carriage, and the stout innkeepers who served us.