"I am glad you are better," said a soft voice in liquid accents, so
close to his ear that he felt the perfumed breath of the speaker wafted
across his face.
Fritz stared with wide-opened eyes. "I'm glad you're better," repeated
the voice; "you are better, are you not; you feel conscious, don't you,
and in your right senses?"
"Where am I?" at last said Fritz faintly.
"Here," answered the girl, "with friends, who are attending to you. Do
not fear, you shall be watched over with every care until you are quite
well again."
"Where is `here'?" whispered Fritz feebly again, smiling at his own
quaint question.
The girl laughed gently in response to his smile. "You are at Mezieres,
not far from the battlefield where you fell. I discovered you there
early yesterday morning."
"You?" inquired Fritz, his eyes expressing his astonishment.
"Yes, I," said the girl kindly; "and I was only too happy to be the
means of finding you, and getting you removed to a place of safety; for,
I'm afraid that if you had lain there much longer on the damp ground you
would have died."
"Oh!" interrupted Fritz as eagerly as his exhausted condition would
allow; "I remember all now! I was wounded and lay there close to the
battery; and then I saw the stars come out and thought--"
"Hush!" said the girl, "you must not speak any more now. You are too
weak; I only spoke to you to find out whether you had regained
consciousness or not."
"But you must let me thank you. If it had not been--"
"No, I won't allow another word," she interposed authoritatively. "You
will do yourself harm, and then I shall be accused of being a bad nurse!
Besides, you haven't got to thank me at all; it was the dog who made me
see you."
"What, Gelert," whispered Fritz again, in spite of her
admonition,--"dear old fellow!"
He had hardly uttered these words, when the faithful dog, who must have
been close beside the bed, raised himself up, putting a paw on one of
Fritz's arms which lay outside the coverings and licking his hand,
whining rapturously the while, as if rejoiced to hear the voice of his
master again.
"`Gelert!'" exclaimed the girl with some surprise. "Why, I know the dog
perfectly, and he recognises me quite well; but he is called `Fritz,'
not `Gelert,' as you said."
"`Fritz!'" ejaculated he, in his turn. "Why, that is my name!"
"Gracious me," thought the girl to herself, "he is rambling again, and
confusing his own name with that of the dog! I must put a stop to his
speaking, or else he will get worse. Here, take this," she said aloud,
lifting to his lips a wineglass containing a composing draught which the
doctor had left for her patient to take as soon as he showed any signs
of recovery from his swoon, and which she really ought to have given him
before; "it will do you good, and make you stronger."
Fritz swallowed the potion unhesitatingly, immediately sinking back on
his pillow in a quiet sleep; when the girl, sitting down by the side of
the bed, watched the long-drawn, quivering respirations that came from
the white, parted lips of the wounded man.
"Poor young fellow!" she said with a sigh; "I fear he will never get
over it. I wonder where Armand is now, and how came this stranger to
have possession of his dog! The funniest thing, too, is that `Fritz'
seems as much attached to this new master as he was to Armand, although
he has not forgotten me. Have you, `Fritz,' my beauty, eh?"
The retriever, in response, gave three impressive thumps with his bushy
tail on the floor, as he lay at the girl's feet by the side of the bed.
He evidently answered to this other familiar appellation quite as
readily as he had done to that of "Gelert," being apparently on perfect
terms of friendship, not to say intimacy, with the young lady who had
just asked him so pertinent a question.
He certainly had not forgotten her. He would not have been a gallant
dog if he had; nor would he have displayed that taste and wise
discrimination which one would naturally have expected to find, in a
well-bred dog of his particular class, for his interlocutor was a
remarkably pretty girl--possessing the most lovely golden-hued hair and
a pair of blue eyes that were almost turquoise in tint, albeit with a
somewhat wistful, faraway look in them, especially now when she gazed
down into the brown, honest orbs of the retriever, who was watching her
every moment with faithful attention. She had, too, an unmistakeable
air of refinement and culture, in spite of her being attired in a
plainly made black stuff dress such as a servant might have worn, and
having a sort of cap like those affected by nuns and sisters of charity
drawn over her dainty little head, partly concealing its wealth of fair
silky hair. No one would have dreamt of taking her to be anything else
but a lady, no matter what costume she adopted, or how she was
disguised.
"Who ever thought, dear doggie," she continued, speaking the thoughts
that surged up in her mind while addressing the dumb animal, who looked
as if he would like to understand her if he only could,--"who ever would
have thought that things would turn out as they have when I last patted
your dear old head at Bingen, `Fair Bingen on the Rhine,' eh?" and she
murmured to herself the refrain of that beautiful ballad.
The retriever gave a long sniff here to express his thorough sympathy
with her, and the girl proceeded, musingly, thinking aloud.
"Yes, I mean, doggie, when Armand and I parted for the last time. Poor
mamma was alive then, and we never dreamt that this terrible war would
come to pass, severing us so completely! Poor Armand, he said he would
be true and return to me again when he was old enough to be able to
decide for himself without the consent of that stern father of his, who
thought that the daughter of a poor German pastor was not good enough
mate for his handsome son--although he was only a merchant, while my
mother was a French countess in her own right. Still, parents have the
right to settle these things, and I quite agreed with dear mamma that I
would never consent to enter a family against their will, especially,
too, when they despised our humble position!"
The girl drew herself up proudly as she said this.
"Never mind," she went on again presently, "it is all over and done for.
But, still, I believe Armand loved me. How handsome he looked that
last time I saw him when he came to our little cottage to say good-bye,
before he went to join his regiment in Algeria, where his father had got
him ordered off on purpose to separate us. However, perhaps it was only
a boy and girl affection at the best, and would never have lasted; my
heart has not broken, I know, although I thought it would break then;
for, alas! I have since seen sorrow enough to crush me down, even much
more than parting with Armand de la Tour. Fancy, poor darling mamma
gone to her grave, and I, her cherished child, forced to earn my bread
as companion to this haughty old baroness, who thinks me like the dust
under her feet! Ah, it is sad, is it not, doggie?"
The retriever sniffed again, while the blue eyes continued to look down
upon him through a haze of tears; and then, the girl was silent for a
time.
"Heigho, doggie," she exclaimed, after a short pause of reflection,
brushing away the tear drops from her cheeks and shaking her dainty
little head as if she would fain banish all her painful imaginings with
the action, "I must not repine at my lot, for the good Father above has
taken care of me through all my adversity, giving me a comfortable home
when I, an orphan, had none to look after me. And, the good baroness,
too--she may be haughty, but then she is of a very noble family, and has
been brought up like most German ladies of rank to look down upon her
inferiors in position; besides, she is kind to me in her way. I am
pleased that she took it into her head to come off here to seek for her
son, and bring him presents from home in person. Nothing else would
suit her, if you please, on his birthday, although the young baron, I
think, was not over-delighted at his mother coming to hunt for him in
war time, as if he were a little boy--he on the staff of the general! I
fancy he got no little chaff from his brother officers in consequence.
However, `it is an ill wind that blows nobody good,' for the good
baroness being here has been seized with a freak for looking after the
wounded, because the Princess of Alten-Schlossen goes in for that sort
of thing; and thus it is, doggie, that I'm now attending to this poor
fellow here. Though, how on earth Armand parted with you, and you
became attached to this new master, whom you seem to love with such
affection, I'm sure I cannot tell!"
Fritz at this moment turned in the little pallet bed on which he was
lying, and in an instant the girl was up from her seat and bending over
him.
"Restless?" she said, smoothing the pillows and laying her cool hand on
the hot brow of her patient, who gave vent to a sigh of satisfaction in
his sleep. "Ah! you'll be better bye-and-bye. Then, you will wake up
refreshed and have some nourishment; and then, too, you'll be able to
tell me all about yourself and master doggie here, eh?"
But, it was many days before poor Fritz was in a condition to offer any
explanation about the dog--many days, when the possibility was trembling
in the balance of fate as to whether he would ever speak again, or be
silent for aye in this world!
When he woke up, he was delirious; and the doctor, a grave German
surgeon of middle age, on coming into the room to examine him, when
making the rounds of the house--a villa in the suburbs of Mezieres,
which had been transformed into a sort of field hospital for the most
dangerous cases in the vicinity--declared Fritz to be in a very critical
state. His life, he said, was in serious peril, a change having taken
place for the worse.
He had been struck by a chassepot conical rifle bullet in the chest; and
the ball, after breaking two of his ribs and slightly grazing the lungs,
had lodged near the spine, where it yet remained, the wounded man being
too prostrate for an operation to be performed for its extraction,
although all the while it was intensifying the pain and adding to the
feverish symptoms of the patient.
"You've not been allowing him to talk, have you?" asked the surgeon,
scanning the girl's face with a stern professional glance.
"No," she replied, blushing slightly under his gaze; "that is, he wanted
to, an hour ago, when he became conscious, but I gave him the sleeping
draught you ordered at once."
"Donnerwetter!" exclaimed the other. "The potion then has done him harm
instead of good. I thought it would have composed him and made him
comfortable for the operation, as, until that bullet is taken out he
can't possibly get well. However, he must now be kept as quiet as
possible. Put a bandage on his head and make it constantly cool with
cold water. I will return bye-and-bye, and then we'll see about cutting
out the ball."
The surgeon then went out softly from the room, leaving the girl to
attend to his directions, which she proceeded to do at once; shuddering
the while at what she knew her poor patient would have to undergo, when
the disciple of Aesculapius came back anon, with his myrmidons and their
murderous-looking surgical knives and forceps, to hack and hew away at
Fritz in their search for the bullet buried in his chest--he utterly
oblivious either of his surroundings or what was in store for him,
tossing in the bed under her eyes and rambling in his mind. He fancied
himself still on the battlefield in the thick of the fight:-- "Vorwarts,
my children!" he muttered. "One more charge and the battery is won.
Pouf! that shell had a narrow squeak of spoiling my new helmet. The
gunner will have to take better aim next time!" Then he would shudder
all over, and cry out in piteous tones, "Take it away, take it away--the
blood is all over my face; and his body, oh, it is pressing me down into
that yawning open grave! Will no one save me? It is terrible, terrible
to be buried alive, and the pale stars twinkling down on my agony!"
Presently, however, the cold applications to his head had their effect,
and he sank down into a torpid sleep, only to start up again in the
ravings of delirium a few moments afterwards.
Fritz continued in this state for hours, with intervals of quiet, during
which his nurse, by the doctor's orders, administered beef tea and other
nourishment which sustained the struggle going on in his sinking frame;
until, at last, the ball was extracted, after an operation which was so
prolonged that the girl, who felt almost as if she were undergoing it
herself, thought it would never end.
Then came the worst stage for the sufferer. Fever supervened; and,
although the wound began to heal up, his physical condition grew weaker
every day under the tearing strain his constitution was subjected to.
Even the doctor gave him up; but the girl, who had attended to him with
the most unwearying assiduity had hopes to the last.
Fritz had been unconscious from the time that he first recognised the
dog, on the evening after he was wounded and found himself in the villa,
until the fever left him, when he was so weak that he was unable to lift
a finger and seemed at the very gates of death.
Now, however, his senses returned to him, and a glad look came into his
eyes on seeing, like as he did before and now remembered, the face of
the beautiful girl bending over him again; but he noticed that she did
not look so bright as when he first beheld her.
"Ah!" he exclaimed feebly, "it was not a dream! How long have I been
ill?"
"More than a fortnight," said the girl promptly.
"Oh, my poor mother!" ejaculated Fritz with a sob, "she will have
thought me dead, and broken her heart!"
"Don't fear that," said she kindly. "I wrote to her, telling her you
were badly hurt, but that you were in good hands."
"You! Why, how did you know her name, or where she lived?"
"I found the address in your pocket," answered the girl with a laugh.
"Don't you recollect putting a slip of paper there, telling any one, in
case you were wounded or killed, to write and break the news gently to
your mother, `madame Dort, Gulden Strasse, Lubeck'? I never heard
before of such a thoughtful son!"
"Ah, I remember now," said Fritz; "and you wrote, then, to her?"
"Yes, last week, when we despaired of your recovery; but, I have written
again since, telling her that the bullet has been removed from your
wound, and that if you get over the fever you will recover all right."
"Thank you, and thank God!" exclaimed Fritz fervently, and he shut his
eyes and remained quiet for a minute or two, although his lips moved as
if in prayer.
"And where is Gelert, my dog?" he asked presently.
"`Fritz,' you mean," said the girl, smiling.
"No, that is my name, the dog's is Gelert."
"That is what I want explained," said the other.
"But, please pardon my rudeness, Fraulein," interrupted Fritz, "may I
ask to whom I am indebted for watching over me, and adding to it the
thoughtful kindness of relieving my mother's misery?"
"My name is Madaleine Vogelstein," said the girl softly. "Do you like
it?"
"I do; it is a very pretty one," he replied. "The surname is German,
but the given name is French--Madaleine? It sounds sweeter than would
be thought possible in our guttural Teuton tongue!"
"My mother was a Frenchwoman, and I take the name from her," explained
the girl. "But now, before I stop you from talking any more, for the
good doctor would blame me much if he came in, you must tell me how you
came to possess that dog; or, rather, why he so faithfully attached
himself to you, as it was entirely through him that I found you, and got
you picked up by the ambulance corps and brought here. You must first
take this soup, however, to strengthen you. It has been kept nice and
warm on that little lamp there, and it will do you good. I won't hear a
word more until you have swallowed it!"
"A soldier should always obey the orders of his commanding officer,"
said Fritz with a smile, as he slowly gulped down the broth, spoonful by
spoonful, as Madaleine placed it in his mouth, for he could not feed
himself.
"That will do," she remarked, when he had taken what she thought
sufficient. "And now you can tell me about the dog. Here he is," she
continued, as the retriever came into the room; and, going up to the
side of the bed where Fritz was lying, put up his paws on the
counterpane and licked his master's face, in the wildest joy,
apparently, at his recovery and notice of him. "He must have heard his
name spoken, as I only just sent him out for a run with one of the men,
for all the time you were so ill we could not get him to leave the room.
Now, doggie, lie down like a good fellow, and let us hear all about
you."
The retriever at once obeyed the girl, stretching himself on the floor
at her feet, although close beside his master all the while.
Fritz then narrated the sad little episode of the battle of Gravelotte,
and how he had found the dead body of the French officer with the dog
keeping guard over it.
The girl wept silently as he went on.
"It must have been poor Armand," she said presently through her tears.
"Did you find nothing about him to tell who he was?"
"There was a little bag I saw round his neck," said Fritz; "I took it
off the poor fellow before we buried him, and suspended it on my own
breast afterwards for security, thinking that I might restore it some
day to his friends, if I ever came across them."
"Ah, that must be the little packet which got driven into your wound,
and, stopping the flow of blood, saved your life, the doctor says. I
have kept it carefully for you, and here it is," cried the girl, hastily
jumping up from her seat and bringing the article in question to Fritz.
"Open it," he said; "I haven't got the strength to do it, you know."
Madaleine unfastened the silken string that confined the mouth of the
bag, now stained with Fritz's blood; and then she pulled out the little
silver ring it contained.
One glance was enough for her.
"Yes," she faltered through her sobs. "It is the ring I gave him; but
that was months before the date engraved upon it, `July 18th, 1870,'
which was the day he said he would come back to Bingen, as then he would
be of age."
"And he never came, then?" inquired Fritz.
"No, never again," said she mournfully.
"Ah, I would come if I had been in his place," exclaimed Fritz eagerly,
with a flashing eye. "I never fail in an appointment I promise to keep;
and to fail to meet a betrothed--why it is unpardonable!"
He had raised his voice from the whisper in which he had previously
spoken, and its indignant tone seemed quite loud.
"Perhaps he couldn't come," said Madaleine more composedly. "Besides,
we were not engaged; all was over between us."
"I'm very glad to hear that," replied Fritz. "It would have been
dastardly on his part otherwise! But, would you like to keep the dog
for his sake, Fraulein Vogelstein? I have got no claim to him, you
know."
"Oh dear no, I would not like to deprive you of him for the world, much
as I love the poor faithful fellow. Why, he would think nobody was his
proper master if he were constantly changing hands like this!"
"Poor old Gelert!" said Fritz; and the dog, hearing himself talked
about, here raised himself up again from his recumbent attitude by the
side of the bed and thrust his black nose into the hand of his master,
who tried feebly to caress him.
"`Fritz,' you mean," corrected Miss Madaleine, determined to have her
point about his right name.
"Well, if you call him so, I shall think you mean me," said Fritz
jokingly, as well as his feeble utterance would permit his voice to be
expressive. He wanted, however, to imply much more than the mere words.
"That would not be any great harm, would it?" she replied with a little
smile, her tears of sorrow at Armand de la Tour's untimely fate having
dried up as quickly as raindrops disappear after a shower as soon as the
sun shines out again; however, she apparently now thought the
conversation was becoming a little too personal, for she proceeded to
ply the invalid with more soup in order to stop his mouth and prevent
him from replying to this last speech of hers!