Klemm took leave of Adolph and Ponto, the faithful dog, and proceeded on his journey.
Men gather to see a regiment, a single company, or even a little squad depart for the camp—but few look out for the returning wounded—they come back singly and sorrowful. The wagon that was passing the ferry house nearly opposite the village in which resided Madam Berien, stopped for a moment, and a soldier, war-worn and wounded, stepped slowly from the vehicle, followed by his dog. He entered the house, and as he closed the door upon a small parlor, he found himself confronted by a female.
“Adolph!”
“Louise!”
“And your mother?”
“Well—all well.”
“And Ponto,” too, said Louise, as the affectionate dog, after reconnoitering round her, sprang up to receive his share of the caresses—“Ponto, too, come back.”
“Yes. But this is not Ponto that left the village with me. How comes he to be so familiar with you?”
“Your wounds are better?”
“I am well nearly. I need only rest—only your kindness, and I shall be ready for another campaign,” said he with a melancholy smile.