As erst to serried legions in the field,
A sacred symbol, as a golden flame,
Lit up the battle-standard, and revealed
For whom the victory's just though bloody claim:
So let us, 'neath thy bannered image, wield
A valiant sword—our "oriflamme" thy name—
The pledge of honor and the gathering cry,
To live for Prussia's glory, or to die!]
"Louisa shall be the guardian angel of the German cause and the battle-cry of vengeance!" echoed the two volunteers.
Madame von Lutzow said nothing. She stood, with her white hands clasped, as if in prayer, and her sweet face turned heavenward. Tears were glittering in her eyes; and, giving her hand to the poet, she said in a low voice: "You have paid us a tribute worthy of you. Thanks! And now come!" She quickly crossed the threshold toward the court-yard. Korner was by her side; Leonora and Caroline, the two volunteers, followed her.
"The four windows on the ground-floor yonder are those of the tailor's shop," said Korner.
Madame von Lutzow nodded, and walked across the wide court-yard toward the house.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE HEROIC TAILOR.
The tailor and his hands were very busy. All sorts of colored cloths and pieces of uniforms were lying about. On the bench, in the middle of the room, sat four workmen, hard at work. Not a word interrupted the silence now desecrated by the noise of the opening door. He who sat on a somewhat raised seat, and was just braiding a magnificent scarlet hussar-jacket, hastily looked up. His hand, armed with his needle, had just risen and remained suspended; his eyes, which he had at first raised carelessly from his work, were fixed on the door, which framed so unusual and attractive a picture—a young lady of surpassing beauty, surrounded by three youthful soldiers, who looked very fine and imposing, too, and whose looks were turned to him with a kind and inquiring expression.
"You are M. Martin, the merchant tailor, are you not?" asked the lady, greeting the tailor with a gentle nod.
"That is my name," said M. Martin, involuntarily rising from his seat.