rise of wet dust,—it had rained the day before,—hitting them in their faces, and the cavalcade passed, the roar of the cannon following like a pursuer.

"We'll keep to the woods," and Hans changed their direction.

Plunging again into the greenwood, they walked with the firs and pines for company until the path brought them out on the highway opposite an inn before which were the same Prussian soldiers, standing about dismounted from their horses.

The carriage was empty.

Plainly some accident had happened, for a smith was busy at work on its wheel. Herr Leo, the Head Forester, was asking questions, and Hans, leading Bettina, pressed forward for the news, the wood gatherers listening timidly on the edge of the crowd.

The battle had begun before daybreak. The French guns had said an early good-morning to the Prussians. The King was at Auerstädt.

"And where is the Emperor?" The forester leaned on his gun, one hand on his hip.

"At Jena, naturally," said a great, red-faced Prussian, who was standing with his arm round the neck of his horse.

"The devil take him!" Herr Leo's nostrils swelled with anger.

"Ja wohl," cried the whole party, which is the German way of agreeing.

"I saw the Emperor last night, Herr Forester."

Every eye turned on Hans.

Then he told his story, and the brows of the soldiers grew gloomy.

"He, the Devil, was awake," said one who leaned idly against the doorpost, "and we were all sleeping." He shrugged his shoulders and began biting his nails as if in irritation.

"The Prussian generals are old," said the forester. He was a pompous-looking man, and announced everything with an air of being a herald.

"He called them 'old wigs.'" Hans' face flushed. "The generals of Frederick the Great's army 'old wigs'!"

At that the soldiers uttered words which made the women shudder.

The forester asked news of the fight at Saalfield. He had heard that there had been a skirmish, he said.

"Ach Gott," cried the soldiers, "have you not heard?"

Then the listening ears were shocked with the news of the defeat and death of Prince Louis Ferdinand, he who was the darling of the army, the Alcibiades of Prussia, one of the bravest princes who ever took up arms against an enemy.

One thousand Saxons under this Prince had been surrounded in a narrow valley by thirty thousand of the enemy. The Saxons had fought bravely, but in vain. The horse of Prince Louis Ferdinand, leaping a ditch, became entangled in a high hedge and was spied by a French hussar.

"Surrender, or you are a dead man!" he cried, and, for answer, Prince Louis Ferdinand cut at him with a sabre.

The Frenchman retorted with a sword thrust and made an end of the most gallant Prince in Germany.

Bettina, listening, and not always entirely understanding, grew cold with horror. She could see the flashing of the swords, and, oh, her father, her dear father was at Jena, and while the talk went on the cannon roared louder and louder.

"The enemy captured thirty guns," said a red-faced soldier gloomily.

"There were bad omens before the war," announced the forester pompously. His wife, he told them, had been in Berlin and had seen the statue of Bellona, goddess of war, fall from the roof of the Arsenal on the very day when the King reviewed his army.

"And when they had picked her up," continued the forester, "her right arm was entirely shattered!"

He had another thing to tell.

Old Field Marshal von Müllendorf, being lifted on the left side of his charger, had straightway fallen down on the right.

At this the red-faced soldier looked impatient.

It was certainly stupid in that big-nosed forester to be telling such things to the soldiers.

"The Queen has been in camp with us," he announced to change the subject.

Then Bettina pricked up her ears.

Oh, if only they would tell more of the Queen of Prussia! Who in Europe did not know of her beauty, her goodness, her love for her people? To Bettina she was like a fairy princess, for her grandfather had told her, over and over again, of how he had seen her ride into Berlin in a splendid gold coach to marry the Crown Prince.

But the soldiers had their thoughts just then on war and they were soon talking again of the Emperor.

"The Devil," announced the forester, "is the only being who can conquer the Emperor."

"Or the English," said Hans quietly; "remember Nelson and his victory of Trafalgar."

At this there was an outcry, the whole group protesting and talking.

"Hold your tongue, old fool!" cried a fat, rude Prussian.

"Ja, ja!" all the others approved him.

"Are not the soldiers of Frederick the Great as brave as the sailors of Nelson? Did not the Great Frederick himself say that the world was not so well poised on the shoulders of Atlas as the Prussian monarchy on the bayonets of the Prussian army?"

"Ja wohl," cried the company.

Then, suddenly, little Bettina's childish voice made the whole party pause and listen. She spoke as fearlessly as if alone with Hans.

"Grandfather," she said, "grandfather, do the soldiers know of Frederick Barbarossa? Tell them, dear grandfather," her little face glowed with excitement, "tell them the ravens will wake him and he will come with the sword and kill the wicked Emperor," and she gazed from one face to the other, her eyes bright and eager.

A great laugh answered her, but one soldier, a kind-looking young man with blue eyes, patted her head and said:

"Brava, little one, brava! If the ravens won't caw enough, we'll wake the old Redbeard with our cannon. Never fear, we'll wake him."

He smiled at Bettina as if he knew how little girls feel, for perhaps he had a little sister at home who also loved stories.

Then, before the talk could begin again, out came an officer, and the soldiers at his command mounted their horses. While the talk had gone on, the smith had mended the wheel and now stood in his leather apron as if waiting for something to happen.

The Herr Ober-Forester stepped to one side and, with a wave of his important hand, motioned the wood gatherers to move farther from the carriage.

The door of the inn was then thrown open by the Herr Landlord, bowing almost to the ground as he did it. Four grand ladies and a gentleman then approached the carriage. Nobody troubled much to look at two of the ladies, though they were young and very noble in appearance.

The third was so dignified that everybody stood up a little straighter. Yet her face was as kind-looking as it was handsome. She was not young. Years had turned her hair quite snow-white, and yet her eyes were as bright and sparkling as a girl's, and she greeted them pleasantly.

But it was at the fourth lady everyone gazed and gazed almost as if enchanted. Never in all her life was little Bettina to see anyone half so lovely. She was exactly like the Princesses in the Fairy Tales, tall and slender, and the most graceful person in the whole world. Her hair was quite golden and waved in the loveliest way from a parting in the middle. Her complexion was pink and white and made you think of snowdrops. Her features were quite perfect and her smile altogether enchanting.

And her eyes!

"Never," the people of Berlin had said years before, "never have we seen such eyes, never."

They were blue, and deep in colour, and they seemed to speak right to the heart and say things no one can write of. They were wonderful eyes, the most wonderful then in Europe, and that is all there is about it.

Though she looked worried and anxious, the moment she saw other faces than those of the soldiers, she smiled first at one, then at the other.

About her lovely throat was a light tissue scarf, and a breeze, seizing it, blew its end sharply into the very face of the dignified, bright-eyed old lady.

"Pardon me, oh, pardon me, dear Voss," called out a voice so sweet that Bettina and the wood gatherers thought