But it was too late, and the odds were too vast.

Wellington, who, by Blucher's arrival, was enabled to bring his reserve into play, now ordered his whole army to advance. And yet once more the Allies were forced to pause for a moment by a furious charge led by Ney--the lion of the day.

"Do you see him there!" cried the captain, his eyes flashing.

And Cousin Hans saw him, the romantic hero, Duke of Elchingen, Prince of Moskwa, son of a cooper in Saarlouis, Marshal and Peer of France. He saw him rush onward at the head of his battalions--five horses had been shot under him with his sword in his hand, his uniform torn to shreds, hatless, and with the blood streaming down his face.

And the battalions rallied and swept ahead; they followed their Prince of Moskwa, their savior at the Beresina, into the hopeless struggle for the Emperor and for France. Little did they dream that, six months later, the King of France would have their dear prince shot as a traitor to his country in the gardens of the Luxembourg.

There he rushed around, rallying and directing his troops, until there was nothing more for the general to do; then he plied his sword like a common soldier until all was over, and he was carried away in the rout.

For the French army fled.

The Emperor threw himself into the throng; but the terrible hubbub drowned his voice, and in the twilight no one knew the little man on the white horse.

Then he took his stand in a little square of his Old Guard, which still held out upon the plain; he would fain have ended his life on his last battlefield. But his generals flocked around him, and the old grenadiers shouted: "Withdraw, Sire! Death will not have you."

They did not know that it was because the _Emperor_ had forfeited his right to die as a French soldier. They led him half-resisting from the field; and, unknown in his own army, he rode away into the darkness of the night, having lost everything. "So ended the battle of Waterloo,"

said the captain, as he seated himself on the bench and arranged his neck-cloth.--Cousin Hans thought with indignation of Uncle Frederick, who had spoken of Captain Schrappe in such a tone of superiority. He was, at least, a far more interesting personage than an old official mill-horse like Uncle Frederick.

Hans now went about and gathered up the gloves and other small objects which the generals, in the heat of the fight, had scattered over the battle-field to mark the positions; and, as he did so, he stumbled upon old Blucher. He picked him up and examined him carefully.

He was a hard lump of granite, knubbly as sugar-candy, which almost seemed to bear a personal resemblance to "Feldtmarschall Vorwarts." Hans turned to the captain with a polite bow.

"Will you allow me, captain, to keep this stone. It will be the best possible memento of this interesting and instructive conversation, for which I am really most grateful to you." And thereupon he put Blucher into his coat-tail pocket.

The captain a.s.sured him that it had been a real pleasure to him to observe the interest with which his young friend had followed the exposition. And this was nothing but the truth, for he was positively enraptured with Cousin Hans.

"Come and sit down now, young man. We deserve a little rest after a ten-hours' battle," he added, smiling.

Cousin Hans seated himself on the bench and felt his collar with some anxiety. Before coming out, he had put on the most fascinating one his wardrobe afforded. Fortunately, it had retained its stiffness; but he felt the force of Wellington's words: "Night or Blucher"--for it would not have held out much longer.

It was fortunate, too, that the warm afternoon sun had kept strollers away from the esplanade. Otherwise a considerable audience would probably have gathered around these two gentlemen, who went on gesticulating with their arms, and now and then prancing around.

They had had only one on-looker--the sentry who stands at the corner of the gymnastic-school.

His curiosity had enticed him much too far from his post, for he had marched several leagues along the highway from Brussels to Waterloo.

The captain would certainly have called him to order long ago for this dereliction of duty but for the fact that the inquisitive private had been of great strategic importance. He represented, as he stood there, the whole of Wellington's reserve; and now that the battle was over the reserve retired in good order northward towards Brussels, and again took up _le poste perdu_ at the corner of the gymnastic-school.

III.

"Suppose you come home and have some supper with me," said the captain; "my house is very quiet, but I think perhaps a young man of your character may have no great objection to pa.s.sing an evening in a quiet family."

Cousin Hans's heart leaped high with joy; he accepted the invitation in the modest manner peculiar to him, and they were soon on the way to No.

34.

How curiously fortune favored him to-day! Not many hours had pa.s.sed since he saw her for the first time; and now, in the character of a special favorite of her father, he was hastening to pa.s.s the evening in her company.

The nearer they approached to No. 34, in the more life-like colors did the enchanting vision of Miss Schrappe stand before his eyes; the blonde hair curling over the forehead, the lithe figure, and then these roguish, light-blue eyes!

His heart beat so that he could scarcely speak, and as they mounted the stair he had to take firm hold of the railing; his happiness made him almost dizzy.

In the parlor, a large corner-room, they found no one. The captain went out to summon his daughter, and Hans heard him calling, "Betty!"

Betty! What a lovely name, and how well it suited that lovely being!

The happy lover was already thinking how delightful it would be when he came home from his work at dinner-time, and could call out into the kitchen: "Betty! is dinner ready?"

At this moment the captain entered the room again with his daughter. She came straight up to Cousin Hans, took his hand, and bade him welcome.

But she added, "You must really excuse me deserting you again at once, for I am in the middle of a dish of b.u.t.tered eggs, and that's no joke, I can tell you."

Thereupon she disappeared again; the captain also withdrew to prepare for the meal, and Cousin Hans was once more alone.

The whole meeting had not lasted many seconds, and yet it seemed to Cousin Hans that in these moments he had toppled from ledge to ledge, many fathoms down, into a deep, black pit. He supported himself with both hands against an old, high-backed easy-chair; he neither heard, saw, nor thought; but half mechanically he repeated to himself: "It was not she--it was not she!"

No, it was not she. The lady whom he had just seen, and who must consequently be Miss Schrappe, had not a trace of blonde hair curling over her brow. On the contrary, she had dark hair, smoothed down to both sides. Her eyes were not in the least roguish or light blue, but serious and dark-gray--in short, she was as unlike the charmer as possible.

After his first paralysis, Cousin Hans's blood began to boil; a violent anguish seized him: he raged against the captain, against Miss Schrappe, against Uncle Frederick and Wellington, and the whole world.

He would smash the big mirror and all the furniture, and then jump out of the corner window; or he would take his hat and stick, rush down-stairs, leave the house, and never more set foot in it; or he would at least remain no longer than was absolutely necessary.

Little by little he became calmer, but a deep melancholy descended upon him. He had felt the unspeakable agony of disappointment in his first love, and when his eye fell on his own image in the mirror, he shook his head compa.s.sionately.

The captain now returned, well-brushed and spick and span. He opened a conversation about the politics of the day. It was with difficulty that Cousin Hans could even give short and commonplace answers; it seemed as though all that had interested him in Captain Schrappe had entirely evaporated. And now Hans remembered that on the way home from the esplanade he had promised to give him the whole sham fight in Sweden after supper.

"Will you come, please; supper is ready," said Miss Betty, opening the door into the dining-room, which was lighted with candles.

Cousin Hans could not help eating, for he was hungry; but he looked down at his plate and spoke little.

Thus the conversation was at first confined for the most part to the father and daughter. The captain, who thought that this bashful young man was embarra.s.sed by Miss Betty's presence, wanted to give him time to collect himself.

"How is it you haven't invited Miss Beck this evening, since she's leaving town to-morrow," said the old man. "You two could have entertained our guest with some duets."

"I asked her to stay, when she was here this afternoon; but she was engaged to a farewell party with some other people she knows."

Cousin Hans p.r.i.c.ked up his ears; could this be the lady of the morning that they were speaking about?

"I told you she came down to the esplanade to say good-bye to me,"

continued the captain. "Poor girl! I'm really sorry for her."

There could no longer be any doubt.

"I beg your pardon--are you speaking of a lady with curly hair and large blue eyes?" asked Cousin Hans.

"Exactly," answered the captain, "do you know Miss Beck?"

"No," answered Hans, "it only occurred to me that it might be a lady I met down on the esplanade about twelve o'clock."