As we sat on a wooden bench before the prince's villa, waiting for
further instructions from our friend of the night before--meaning by
that the colonel who could not take a joke, but could make one of his
own--a tall, slender young man of about twenty-four, with a little silky
mustache and a long, vulpine nose, came striding across the square with
long steps. As nearly as we could tell, he wore a colonel's shoulder
straps; and, aside from the fact that he seemed exceedingly youthful to
be a colonel, we were astonished at the deference that was paid him by
those of higher rank, who stood about waiting for their cars. Generals,
and the like, even grizzled old generals with breasts full of
decorations, bowed and clicked before him; and when he, smiling broadly,
insisted on shaking hands with all of them, some of the group seemed
overcome with gratification.

Presently a sort of family resemblance in his face to some one whose
picture we had seen often somewhere began to impress itself on us, and
we wondered who he was; but, being rather out of the setting ourselves,
none of us cared to ask. Two weeks later, in Aix-la-Chapelle, I was
passing a shop and saw his likeness in full uniform on a souvenir
postcard in the window. It was Prince August Wilhelm, fourth son of the
Kaiser; and we had seen him as he was about getting his first taste of
being under fire by the enemy.

Pretty soon he was gone and our colonel was gone, and nearly everybody
else was gone too; Companies of infantry and cavalry fell in and moved
off, and a belated battery of field artillery rumbled out of sight up
the twisting main street. The field postoffice staff, the field
telegraph staff, the Red Cross corps and the wagon trains followed in
due turn, leaving behind only a small squad to hold the town--and us.