"To any one else, sergeant," said I, "I should say that it was worth
fifty francs; but the gold alone is worth more, and I should estimate
it at a hundred francs; we can weigh it."
"And the portrait, Father Moses?"
"The portrait is worth nothing to me, and I will give it back to you.
Such things do not sell in this country; they are of no value except to
the family."
"Very well," said he, "we will talk about that by and by."
He put back the miniature into the bag.
"Do you read German?" he asked.
"Very well."
"Ah, good! I am curious to hear what this kaiserlich had to write.
See, it is a letter! He was keeping it doubtless for the
baggage-master to send it to Germany. But we came too soon! What does
it say?"
He handed me a letter addressed to Madame Roedig, Stuttgart, No. 6
Bergstrasse. That letter, Fritz, here it is. Sorle has kept it; it
will tell you more about the landwehr than I can.
"Bichelberg, Feb. 25, 1814.
"Dear Aurelia: Thy good letter of January 29th reached Coblentz too
late; the regiment was on its way to Alsace.
"We have had a great many discomforts, from rain and snow. The
regiment came first to Bitche, one of the most terrible forts possible,
built upon rocks up in the sky. We were to take part in blockading it,
but a new order sent us on farther to the fort of Lutzelstein, on the
mountain, where we remained two days at the village of Petersbach, to
summon that little place to surrender. The veterans who held it having
replied by cannon, our colonel did not judge it necessary to storm it,
and, thank God! we received orders to go and blockade another fortress
surrounded by good villages which furnish us provisions in abundance;
this is Phalsburg, a couple of leagues from Saverne. We relieve, here,
the Austrian regiment of Vogelgesang, which has left for Lorraine.
"Thy good letter has followed me everywhere, and it fills me now with
joy. Embrace little Sabrina and our dear little Henry for me a hundred
times, and receive my embraces yourself, too, thou dear, adored wife!
"Ah! when shall we be together again in our little pharmacy? When
shall I see again my vials nicely labelled upon their shelves, with the
heads of AEsculapius and Hippocrates above the door? When shall I take
my pestle, and mix my drugs again after the prescribed formulas? When
shall I have the joy of sitting again in my comfortable arm-chair, in
front of a good fire, in our back shop, and hear Henry's little wooden
horse roll upon the floor,--Henry whom I so long for? And thou, dear,
adored wife, when wilt thou exclaim: 'It is my Henry!' as thou seest me
return crowned with palms of victory."
"These Germans," interrupted the sergeant, "are blockheads as well as
asses! They are to have 'palms of victory!' What a silly letter!"
But Sorle and Zeffen listened as I read, with tears in their eyes.
They held our little ones in their arms, and I, too, thinking that
Baruch might have been in the same condition as this poor man, was
greatly moved.
Now, Fritz, hear the end:
"We are here in an old tile-kiln, within range of the cannon of the
fort. A few shells are fired upon the city every evening, by order of
the Russian general, Berdiaiw, with the hope of making the inhabitants
decide to open the gates. That must be before long; they are short of
provisions! Then we shall be comfortably lodged in the citizens'
houses, till the end of this glorious campaign; and that will be soon,
for the regular armies have all passed without resistance, and we hear
daily of great victories in Champagne. Bonaparte is in full retreat;
field-marshals Bluecher and Schwartzenberg have united their forces, and
are only five or six days' march from Paris----"
"What? What? What is that? What does he say?" stammered out the
sergeant, leaning over toward the letter. "Read that again!"