"Yes, you! For, if you do not accommodate him, he cannot be present."
M. Martin heaved a profound sigh, and cast a glance of despair around his shop. "There are still three hussar-jackets to be finished," he murmured. "If it were but a hussar-uniform that the gentleman asks for! But he does not wish to join the hussars?"
"No, my friend. I enlist in the Legion of Vengeance, and become one of Major von Lutzow's volunteer riflemen. It will, therefore, be less troublesome to suit me."
"But that dress is not near as showy as the other," said the tailor, morosely. "An entirely black uniform with red trimmings on the sleeves looks sad, and—cruel."
"And that is as it ought to be, my dear sir. The black color signifies our grief, the red signifies blood."
And suddenly he commenced to sing:
"Noch trauera wir im schwarzeu Racherkleide
Um den gestorbnen Muth,
Doch fragt man Euch, was dieses Roth bedeute;
Das deutet Frankenblut!"
"Mit Gott!—Einst geht hoch uber Feindesleichen
Der Stern des Friedens auf;
Dann pflanzen wir ein weisses Siegeszeichen
Am freien Rheinstrom auf."
[Footnote:
By this black uniform we ever mourn
The public spirit dead!
And why is then this crimson facing worn?—
With Frenchmen's blood it's red.
When high above vast heaps of slaughtered foes,
The star of peace shall shine,
The banner white, which victory bestows,
Raise by our own free Rhine.]