be sure she regrets your absence from home."

The officers looked at each other with half-tipsy, half-angry eyes.
They suspected a jest at their expense, but could not quite catch
it.

"Impudence," muttered the count, who was the sharper of the two
when sober.

"No," said the prince, "it is only stupidity. These Walloons have
no wit."

"Come," he added, turning to the baron, "we sing you a good song of
fatherland--show how _gemuthlich_ we Germans are. You Belgians
have no word for that. What?"

He sat down to the piano and pounded out _"Deutschland ueber
Alles,"_ singing the air in a raucous voice, while Ludra added
a rumbling bass.

"What do you think of that? All Germans can sing. _Gemuthlich._
What?"

"You are right," said the baron, with downcast eyes. "We Belgians
have no word for that. It is inexpressible--except in German. I
bid you good night."

For nearly a fortnight this condition of affairs continued. The
baron endured it as best he could, obeying scrupulously the military
regulations which necessity laid upon him, and taking his revenge