“Where did your son Fritz write to you from, then?”
“From Coblentz. His letter is dated the day he arrived there, but I only got it this morning.”
“Ah then, most worthy lady, two terrible battles have occurred since that time. We have beaten the French and forced them back into their own country; but, alas! thousands of German lives have been lost. The slaughter has been terrific!”
“Good heavens, Burgher Jans, you alarm me!” said Madame Dort, rising from her chair in excitement. “Fritz told me there would be no fighting except between the Crown. Prince’s army and the enemy!”
“The worthy young Herr was right so far,” put in the little man soothingly, “that is as regards the south of the line; but our second army corps has been likewise engaged on the banks of the Saar, hurling disaster on the foe, although the French fought well, too, it is said. Where, however, is Herr Fritz?”
“Serving under General Steinmetz.”
“Ah, then he’s safe enough, dear madame. That army is but acting as the reserve. It is only my poor countrymen, the Bavarians, and the Saxons who will have the hard work of the campaign to do. Von Bismark wants to let out a little of their blood in return for the feverish excitement they displayed against the Prussians in ’66!”
“You relieve my mind,” said Madame Dort, resuming her seat. “I thought for the moment Fritz was in danger. You speak bitterly against the Chancellor, however. He is a great man, and has done much for Germany.”
“Oh, yes, I grant that,” replied the other warmly; “still, he is one who never forgets. He always pays out a grudge! You will see, now, if those poor Bavarians do not come in for all the thick of the fighting.”
“You talk as if there is going to be a lot more?”