Any one who would know the Professor at his best should see him sitting surrounded by his students, the mature man amidst blossoming youth, the teacher among his admiring scholars. For the greatest privilege of the academical teacher is, that he not only exercises a personal influence on the present, but ennobles the souls of men in later generations by his knowledge. Out of the many who listen to lectures a chosen circle attaches itself to the learned man, the tie of personal intercourse connects the teacher and the scholar, lightly formed but lasting; for what attracts one to the other, and often makes the stranger after a few hours an intimate friend, is the pleasant consciousness that both value and appreciate the same thing.

This bond, so charming and profitable for both parties, is the noble poetry which learning grants to its votaries. Strangers and men of later generations judge the value of a man only by his books, but however valuable may be the products of a man's mind thus transmitted, it gives but an imperfect picture of it to later times; far different does the living source work in the souls of those who receive knowledge from the lips and eyes of the teacher. They are taught, not only by the substance of his instructions, but still more by his method of investigating and expounding, and, most of all, by his character and the original style of his discourse. For these warm the hearts of his hearers, charm their minds, and inspire them with respect. Such an impression of the human mind, which leaves its traces on many, is often more important in forming the character of young men than the subject-matter of the instruction they have received. The character of the teacher works in the scholars; new life is infused into them, and they imbibe not only his excellencies, but also, sometimes, his peculiarities and weaknesses. In each hearer the characteristics of the master assume a different aspect, yet in each the influence of his mind is apparent, even in minute particulars. The lessons which Felix gave to his wife were not the only ones given in his house. One evening of every week belonged to his students. There came, first, a few who wished to ask questions and obtain information about their work; afterwards, a greater number assembled. Ilse's room was also opened, and Gabriel brought tea and simple fare, and an hour passed in easy conversation, till, at last, the most intimate withdrew into the study of their teacher, and clustered around him in numbers almost too great for the narrow room. Here, also, the conversation was varied; sometimes a humorous account of what they had experienced, or discussions in which the Professor knew how to make his young friends take an active part, and, interspersed with these, rapid criticisms upon men and books, pointed remark and quick retort, such as are natural to those who can recognize long melodies by a few tones. At these receptions Felix disclosed his inmost soul with an openness that he never showed in the lecture-room. He spoke of himself and others without reserve, and entered pleasantly on what he had most at heart.

Ilse was no stranger at these gatherings. Those who assisted in them, whether serious men, old students, or young doctors, found pleasure in the presence of the distinguished lady of the house, who, in her simple way, took part in their intercourse. The year before she had shown her intimacy with the Odyssey, when she summoned the gentlemen to the enjoyment of a leg of wild boar, and expressed the benevolent wish that they would not disdain to partake of the meal. After that she was called Penelope in the circle, and she knew that this nickname spread among the students beyond the walls of her house.

Ilse had her favorites among the young men. Of this number was a worthy student, not the most distinguished, but one of the most industrious of the Professor's scholars. He was a countryman of hers and had been the first to show her that students had tender feelings in their breasts. This student had, during the last year, worked successfully in filling his intellectual vacuum with collegiate knowledge. His lyrics he had almost given up; for when the Professor sent him back his poems, he had felt remorse and humbly begged pardon. Since that, having obtained a good scholarship through Felix, he took a less misanthropic view of domestic affairs; he proved himself a faithful and attached companion, and now bore the honorable title of Doctorandus, which, according to our grammarians, signifies a man who is about to be a doctor; he had also attained a certain degree of recognition among the students; he filled a position of honor in the great Arminia corps, always wore their colors on his cap, and was ranked among the privileged seniors of the society who, on drinking evenings, were exempted from the heavier obligations of conviviality, and filled up by serious conversation the pauses in which the stormy youths took breath.

On one of these evenings the conversation took a learned turn even before the party had retreated from Ilse's apartment to the study. An interesting manuscript had been found in a distant library in South Germany. There was much talk about the discovery and the editor, and Felix recounted with satisfaction to some of his select circle all the similar discoveries which had been made during the last twenty years. Then our student, who had just received a cup of tea from Ilse, and was stirring it with his spoon, said, in evident ignorance of the storm that was lowering: "May there not be many things still undiscovered in the neighborhood? In my town there is an old chest, which contains books and papers from the monastery at Rossau. It is not impossible that there may be something valuable there."

Thus spoke the student, stirring his spoon, like a boy who applies a burning match to a bombshell.

The Professor started from his chair, and cast such a flaming glance at the student that in fright he quickly set down his cup of tea in order not to spill it "Where is the chest?" said the Professor.

"Where is it? I do not know," replied the student surprised. "I was told of it, some years ago, by a countryman of mine, who was born in the district of Rossau"--the student mentioned the name, and Ilse knew the family--"but it must be in our county, for he lived there as tutor in several places."

"Was he a philologist?" asked an older scholar, as eager as the Professor.

"He was a theologian," replied our student. A murmur of regret passed through the room.

"Then the account is still very uncertain," concluded the critic.

"Did the man see the chest himself?" asked the Professor.

"I am not certain of that, either," replied the student. "I did not then know the importance that attached to the communication. But, I think, he must have seen it himself, for I remember he said it was thickly plated with iron."

"Unfortunate man! You must do your utmost to procure us information about this chest," cried the Professor. He paced impatiently up and down the room, the students making way for him respectfully. "Your communication is of more importance than I can now tell you," began the Professor, stopping before the student. "Endeavor, in the first place, to recall what you have heard about it. Did your acquaintance ever see the chest open?"

"When I come to think of it," replied the student, "I believe that he saw some old monastic relics lying in it."

"Then it was no longer closed?" inquired the Professor. "And where is your friend, now?"

"He went to America last year with a brewer's daughter. I do not know where he now resides, but it may be ascertained from his relations."

Again a murmur of vexation passed through the room.

"Endeavor to discover the residence of the man; write to him, and ask for accurate information," exclaimed the Professor; "you can do me no greater service."

The student promised to do all in the power of man. When the party broke up Gabriel communicated to the student a secret invitation to dinner on the following day. Ilse knew that it would be agreeable to Felix to have the company of one who had even an acquaintance who had seen the chest that contained the books of Rossau, among which, it was possible, the manuscript of Tacitus might lie, provided it was not somewhere else.

She, however, did not hear with any satisfaction of the secret chest, for Ilse was, alas! incredulous in the matter of the manuscript. She had sometimes vexed her husband by her indifference on the subject, and, after the unfortunate Struvelius episode, avoided every mention of the lost treasure. She had, besides, special reasons for it. She knew how much every thought and discussion concerning it excited Felix. He always became agitated, and his eyes shone as in fever. It is true he controlled himself after a few minutes, and laughed at his own fervor; but these outbreaks of latent ardor were not agreeable to his wife, for she saw by these sudden flashings that the thought of the manuscript still fretted the soul of her dear husband, and suspected that in secret he often dreamt of it, and entertained secret designs against the walls of her father's house.

Our student had now aroused the storm. Later, the doctor was called in and there was a long discussion and dispute. Ilse was glad that the doctor did not attach much importance to the chest, and by sensible suggestions brought the Professor at last to make humorous remarks upon his own eagerness.

When, on the following day at dinner, the student produced the letter he had written in proof of his zeal, the Professor treated the matter with more composure. "It is an uncertain account," he said, "even if the relator tells the truth; he may be in error concerning the particulars, or even the name of the monastery." When, afterwards, information came from the house of the student that the theologian had settled somewhere in Wisconsin as an apothecary, and that the student's letter had been sent to an uncertain address in a distant country, the whirlpool which the mention of the chest had provoked had subsided to peaceful ripples.

The greatest advantage consequent upon this episode came to our student; for the Professor imparted the account to the Chamberlain, and pointed out to him that in this chest there might be things of very great value. The Chamberlain had several years before held the post of castellan, and was well acquainted with all the relics of his sovereign's castles, and was aware that there was nothing of that kind to be found in any of them; but as the student appeared to him to be a favorite of the family, he took kindly notice of the young man, and offered to present him as a fellow-countryman to the Hereditary Prince. This was done. The consequence of the introduction was that our student was invited one evening on which the Prince received other academical acquaintances.

It was an anxious evening for the student, and the Arminian had various reasons to be mistrustful. For, this year, there had been violent storms among the students. It was the quarrel between the corps of Markomanns and the Society of Arminians that had raised the tempest. The recent cause of the storm was curious and instructive to those who watch the secret links of earthly events. The discord which had sundered the professors who were the representatives of ancient learning, the struggle between Werner and Struvelius, had not at the time much excited the academic youth. But, shortly afterwards, a song had come forth among the students, in which the adventure of Struvelius was treated disrespectfully. This song was a weak production; it was in the form of a ballad, and adorned with a refrain to this effect:

The author was never discovered. But when one considers that this song, so far as could be perceived from its ludicrous style, was averse to Struvelius and in honor of Werner, and further, that it first appeared among the Arminians, and that among these children of Arminius was one who had cherished lyrical tendencies in the past; that this one belonged to Werner's circle, and that in this circle the parchment had upon several occasions been contemptuously treated as a fidibus, one cannot suppress the cautious supposition that our student had degraded his departing muse by this miserable performance.

This frivolous song had become popular with the Arminians; its refrain was heard in the streets sometimes in the quiet night; it was very vexatious to the Professor, and not less so to Werner's tea party, but it could not be put down by force. The song and its origin were matters of indifference to the Markomanns and their associates, but they did not sing it simply because it was modelled upon a drinking song of the Arminians. About the time that Werner entered upon his rectorate, some students of all parties were sitting together in a restaurant; a Markomann attempted to light his pipe by the gas-flame, and a spark burnt the ribbon of his corps-colors; whereupon some of the Arminians mockingly sang the refrain. The Markomanns sprang up and commanded silence. Numerous challenges were the consequence. But, unfortunately, the matter did not rest there. A number of Arminians had drawn up in front of the Markomann's club-house, and had openly sung the tune in an insolent manner on the main street; it led to disagreeable conflicts between the parties and the city police, and investigations and punishments were the result. Werner himself had, in private conferences with some of the leaders, done what he could to suppress the unfortunate song, and he had succeeded in banishing it at least from the streets. But the ill-will remained in their hearts. By various unfortunate occurrences it became clear that there was more disunion and discordant feeling among the students than usual.

The Arminian, as he hung up his cap in the Prince's ante-room beside the smart ones of the great Markomann leaders, anxiously revolved all this in his mind. The evening passed off more pleasantly than he had expected. In the august chamber the Markomanns observed decorous civility. The meeting indeed was of some importance; for this was just the time when the students were talking about holding a great Commers^[3] to celebrate the anniversary of some university event. But, as often happens in the greater affairs of our nation, the feast was in danger of being disturbed by the quarrel between the clans. Now, while the Arminian was drinking punch together with the Markomanns, the Hereditary Prince expressed the desire to participate in the commemorative Commers; and Beppo, the leader of the Markomanns, explained to the Arminian his views as to how the quarrel might be adjusted. The Arminian offered to convey this proposal to his corps. When the Chamberlain hesitated as to the participation of the Hereditary Prince in the Commers, the Arminian, exhilarated by punch and the flow of conversation, assured him that his comrades would appreciate the honor done to their festival by the presence of the Hereditary Prince.

The efforts of our student were successful; the hatchet was buried, and the academic youths prepared for a festival in common. A large hall, richly ornamented with the colors of all the associations that took part in the Commers, was filled with long tables. At the end stood the presidents in festive attire, with their rapiers. On the chairs sat many hundred students, arranged according to their respective corps and clubs. Among the Markomanns were the Prince and his Chamberlain; and the Prince on this occasion wore their colors in honor of the corps. The full-toned melody of the songs, accompanied by stirring music, resounded through the room; it was a goodly sight to behold so many young men, the hope and strength of the rising generation, united in festive song, according to the old customs of the university. Hitherto the festival had passed without any disturbance. The Chamberlain, remarking that cheeks were beginning to glow, and the songs becoming wilder, so that the music was not rapid enough for the beating of the academic pulse, advised the Prince to retire. The Prince, himself excited by song and wine, immediately rose; before him walked all the nobility of the Markomanns to clear the way through the surging multitude. They were obliged to push through the crowd, who had risen from their chairs and were moving about in confusion. But it chanced that the Prince was cut off from his academical attendants and bumped against an insolent Arminian, who, emboldened by wine and embittered by the not very gentle touch of the advancing Prince, would not make way, but barred the passage intentionally with his elbows, and coolly proceeded to puff his pipe in the Prince's face. The Prince was inconsiderate enough to push the Arminian roughly aside and cry, "You are an impudent fellow;" whereupon the Arminian spoke the fatal word, of which the consequence, according to academical custom, is either a duel or loss of honor to the person insulted. In a moment he was surrounded by the Markomanns. The same insulting word poured like hail from all sides on the audacious offender; but he drew out his card-case mockingly, and called out, "One after another; let the whole retinue follow suit; like master like man." When the throng became greater, he cried out to those behind him, "This way, Arminians," and began in loud bass tones the battle-cry of his corps:

The tumult spread throughout the hall; over chairs and tables sprang the Arminians to the aid of their endangered champion; the words of insult and challenges flew in volleys in every direction. In vain did the presidents call them to their places; in vain did the music interpose; the angry cries of the contending parties could be heard above the shrill fanfare of the trumpet. The presidents hastened together, and, passing along in close array, separated the contending parties. But the wild uproar was followed by violent discussions; the associations stood apart from each other; separate groups jeered at one another, and, according to the old custom of academic belligerents, endeavored gradually to drive their opponents to use the word of challenge. Some provoking expressions had already been used which were forbidden by the social rules of the University; blades were glittering in the air, and more than one hand clenched a wine bottle. The music struck up the national hymn, but it was untimely, and from all sides came the angry shout, "Stop it! stop it!" The frightened musicians were silenced, and a fresh outbreak of the tremendous tumult seemed inevitable, when an old leader of the Teutons, who knew his people well, sprang up into the orchestra, seized a fiddle, seated himself in a chair high up as director, and began the foolish tune, "Ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin." The music began in plaintive tones. Every one looked up, and at once noticed the eminent gentleman scraping strenuously on the fiddle; the mood of all was suddenly changed, and a general laugh arose. The presidents struck their blades on the table so violently that more than one broke, and commanded peace; the leaders of all the associations joined together, and declared the Commers to be concluded, and called upon the clubs and corps to return peacefully home, as they intended to take the affair in hand. The students crowded angrily out of the hall, and dispersed to their respective head-quarters; but in every group the events of the evening were discussed with vehement bitterness, and embassies passed rapidly from one camp to another throughout the night. The Chamberlain had extricated the Prince from the throng after the first encounter. The latter was sitting in his room, pale and dismayed at the consequences likely to ensue from the unfortunate incident. The Chamberlain also was terrified, for the responsibility of this fracas would fall upon his head. Besides this he felt real sympathy for the young Prince, who so deeply felt the insult to his honor, and who, with a fixed and saddened gaze, received no comfort from the assurance that his princely honor could suffer no more injury from these plebeians than from the sparrows on the tree.

After a sleepless night the Prince received the leaders of the Markomanns, who came to announce the decision of their corps. They stated that their senior officer, Beppo, had been chosen to represent the Prince in all further dealings with the Arminian, and he, Beppo, chivalrously begged him to concede to him this honor; he added that, in the opinion of his association, the Arminian had no claim to the privilege of receiving a challenge in consequence of that vile insulting word, and if the Prince should refuse any further participation in the matter, the Markomanns would take all the consequences on themselves. But they could not conceal from him that they alone held this view, nay, even some of their own corps had objected. All things, therefore, considered, they thought the best course would be for the Prince to make this concession--the greatness of which they undoubtedly deeply felt--to the academical custom.

The Prince had not yet recovered his self-possession, so the Chamberlain begged the gentlemen to allow his Highness some hours for reflection.

Meanwhile our student, who had been restrained by the consideration of his academical duties, and had kept aloof from any personal implication, in great perplexity went to the Doctor with this news, as in this affair he could not venture before the Rector. The Doctor hastened to his friend, who had already had an account from the beadles and the police.

"As regards the personal conflict of the Prince, I have as yet received no notice, and it is perhaps desirable, both for him and the University, that it should not be entered into. I shall be watchful and endeavor to provide against further consequences; and I shall perform the duties of my office in every direction in the strictest way; but do your best to prevent my learning any details of this affair, except what may give me just ground for taking official steps."

The Chamberlain was almost in a similar quandary as our student; he also went full of anxiety to the Doctor, related the quarrel, and asked what the Doctor considered was the duty of the Prince, and whether he ought to allow himself to be represented in a duel.

The Doctor replied, with some reserve: "Duels are senseless and wrong! If the Hereditary Prince is imbued with this view, and is willing to take upon himself the consequences to his own life, and at some future day to his government, I will be the last to oppose this martyrdom. But if your young master is not free from the prejudices of his class, and has been impressed with the idea that there is a certain honor for cavaliers and officers, which is different from that of men of honor in general, and which, in certain cases, makes a duel necessary, if your Prince is going to decide the question upon these grounds, and in future govern according to such views, in that case I will unreservedly acknowledge that I cannot allow him the right to set himself in opposition to the ideas of honor of our academical youths."

"Then you are of opinion," said the Chamberlain, "that the Prince must consent to the offer of a representative?"

"I have neither the right nor the wish to offer an opinion," said the Doctor. "I can only say that the idea of a representative does not please me. It appears to me that the affair is simple,--either reason or personal courage."

The Chamberlain rose quickly. "That is quite impossible; it would be an unheard of deviation from custom, and would produce new and painful complications for the Prince; it is also entirely contrary to my convictions of what is allowable to a royal prince, and under no considerations can the proposition be further entertained."

The Chamberlain went away not much pleased with the radical views of the Doctor. On his return home he said to the Prince:

"The affair must be settled quickly before your father can learn of it. Your father, considering the social standing of your opponent, would positively prohibit any concession on your part; and yet I see that the future intercourse of your Highness with the body of the students, and even perhaps other personal relations, will be greatly endangered if the public opinion here is not in some measure satisfied. If, therefore, I may counsel your Highness, it will be to make a great concession, and accept Herr von Halling as your representative."

The Prince looked down, depressed, and finally said: "That will perhaps be best."

The great leader Beppo, one of the best swordsmen of the University, was to fight for the Hereditary Prince. But now it appeared that the Arminians were by no means satisfied with this idea of a representative, and raised the impudent pretension that the Prince should himself appear before them in fencing attire and cambric shirt. The stout Ulf, for instance, the originator of the whole embroilment, declared that he found the Markomann leader also on his list, and he would not renounce the delightful prospect of having a pass with that gentleman in his private capacity.

This could not be denied. Meanwhile a large council of seniors, which the Markomanns had quickly called together, decided that a substitute should be allowed to enter the lists for the Prince. On the other hand, their cunning proposition that the Arminian should first enter the lists against the other men of their corps, was declined. They wished by this to relieve the Prince of the whole affair, as it might be assumed that even the great strength of the Arminian would be exhausted before half the names on his list were cancelled. Nothing, therefore, remained but for the two combatants to fight together at two different times, the Markomann, in the name of the Prince, first.

"We shall do our best to make the second meeting unnecessary," said the Markomann significantly to the representative of the Arminian, on the breaking-up of the conference.

Every precaution was taken to keep the fatal duel secret; only those concerned in it knew the hour: even to their near associates another day was spoken of; for the beadles were watchful, and the University had been called upon by the highest authorities to avert further consequences by all means in their power.

The day before the duel, the Prince invited the Markomanns to dinner, and there was so much talk upon relevant matters that the Chamberlain felt decidedly uncomfortable. Shortly before the breaking-up of the party, the Prince was standing with Beppo in a recess of the window; suddenly he seized the hand of the young man, held it fast, and his frame was violently convulsed with suppressed sobbing. The valiant youth looked at the Prince much moved.

"All will go well, your Highness," said he, consolingly.

"For you, but not for me," replied the Prince, and turned away.

As towards evening the Hereditary Prince walked restlessly through the rooms, the Chamberlain, who also wished to be relieved from his troubled thoughts, proposed that they should that evening pay a visit to the Rector. This was the only place where he was sure to hear nothing of the disagreeable history, and he was sharp-sighted enough to guess that this visit would be particularly agreeable to the Prince.

Ilse knew everything. Our student friend, who had involuntarily played the magpie, creating mischief between the parties, still haunted the neighborhood; he ventured, on one of the student evenings, to remain behind with Penelope when the others went into the Rector's room; he related the whole quarrel, described the dangerous position of the Prince, and begged her to say nothing of the occurrence to her husband. When, therefore, the Prince entered, a forced restraint and uneasiness was manifest in those present. The Chamberlain was more charming than ever, and related agreeable Court stories, but without effect. The Prince sat embarrassed in his place, next to Ilse; he felt the seriousness of even her friendly words; he saw how sorrowfully her eyes rested upon him, and when they met his he turned quickly away. At last he began, with unsteady voice:

"You once showed me the portraits of famous men that you have; may I ask you to let me see the volume again?"

Ilse glanced at him and rose. The Prince followed her, as before, into the next room. She laid the volume before him; he looked over it without interest, and at last began, in a low tone:

"All I wished was to be alone with you. I am helpless and very unhappy. I have no person on earth who will give me disinterested advice as to what I shall do. I have given offense to a student, and have been bitterly insulted by him. And I am now compelled to allow another to fight out the quarrel for me."

"My poor Prince!" cried Ilse.

"Do not speak to me of it, gracious lady, with the feelings with which a woman would regard it, but speak, as if you were my friend in advice. That I should burden you with my troubles makes me feel at this moment contemptible to myself, and I fear I seem so also to you." He glanced gloomily down.

Ilse spoke softly. "I can only say what is in my heart; if your Highness has done an injustice, apologize for it; if you have been insulted, forgive it."

The Prince shook his head.

"That would be of no use, it would only disgrace me afresh in my own eyes, and those of all others. It was not on that point that I ask you. Only one thing I wish to know; ought I to allow another to fight my battle because I am a prince? All say that I must do it; but I have no confidence in any, only in you."

The blood mantled in Ilse's face. "Your Highness lays a responsibility upon me that frightens me."

"You once told me the truth," said the Prince, gloomily, "as no one on earth has yet done, and every word you spoke was good and from your heart. I therefore now pray you to give me your honest opinion."

"Then," said Ilse, looking at him eagerly, while the old Saxon blood boiled in her veins, "if your Highness began the quarrel, you must end it yourself like a man, and you must yourself take care that it is done in an honorable way. Your Highness ought not to allow another to brave your opponent and endanger himself on account of the wrong you have done. To lead a stranger to wrong, to compel another to risk his life, while you quietly look on, would be worst of all!"

The Prince replied, dejectedly:

"He is courageous, and superior to his adversary."

"And does your Highness think it right to take advantage of your opponent by the powers of one who is stronger than yourself? Whether your representative wins or loses, you will be more indebted to him than you ought to be to a stranger; and through your whole life you will be burdened with the thought that he has shown courage, while you have not."

The Prince became pale and silent.

"I feel just as you do," he said, at last.

"Everything of this kind is dreadful," continued Ilse, wringing her hands; "everywhere there seems to be ill-will and thoughts of bloody revenge. But, if it is impossible for you to prevent a wrong, it is your duty to take care that it does not become greater, and that its consequences do not fall on the head of another, only on your own. My heart tells me that you must yourself do, if not what is right, at all events what is least wrong."

The Prince nodded his head, and again sat silent.

"I cannot speak of it to those about me," he began, at last, "least of all to him," pointing to the Chamberlain. "If I am to prevent another from fighting in my stead, it must be done immediately. Do you know any one who can help me?"

"My husband's office forbids his doing anything for your Highness in this affair. But the Doctor?"

The Prince shook his head.

"Our student," exclaimed Ilse; "he is truly devoted to your Highness: he is a countryman of ours, and feels greatly troubled about this matter."

The Prince reflected.

"Will you allow me to have the use of your servant for a few hours this evenings when you no longer need him yourself?"

Ilse called Gabriel into the room, and said to him:

"Do what his Highness desires of you."

The Prince approached the window, and spoke in a low tone to the servant.

"Leave everything to me, your Highness," said Gabriel, as he went back to his tea-cups.

The Prince approached Ilse, who was standing motionless, staring at the book.

"I have looked over the portraits," he said, with more composure than he had shown during the whole evening, "and I have found what I was looking for. I thank you."

Ilse rose, and returned with him to the company.

The guests had left, and Ilse was sitting alone in her room. What had she done? Become the confidant of a man implicated in a bloody deed, the secret adviser of a lawless action. She, a woman, was the confederate of a strange man; she, the helpmate of one who should be the guardian of the laws, had become the abettor of a crime. What dark spirit had infatuated her when she confidentially held counsel with the stranger in whispers on a subject which she could not venture to confess to her husband? No!--he who had drawn her into this was not a stranger. She had from her childhood heard of him with deep interest; he was the future ruler of her country, and would be there master of life and death. From the time she first knew him, so touching in his joyless youth and in the weak helplessness of his position, she had been tenderly solicitous about him; and from that day she had always found in him an amiable and pure mind. She was now trembling with anguish for him. She had driven him to his fate; she bore the guilt of an action that was considered unseemly for one in his position. If from her advice evil befell him--if the opponent of the poor, weak youth should kill him,--how could she bear it on her conscience?

She sprang up, and wrung her hands. Her husband called her, and she shuddered, for she felt herself guilty in his sight. Again she asked herself: "What bad spirit has distracted me? Am I no longer what I was? Ah me! I have not acted as becomes a Christian woman, nor as a careful wife who opens the shrine of her soul to one alone. Yet," she exclaimed, raising her head, proudly, "if he were again to stand before me, and again ask whether he should act as a man or as a coward, I would again and again say the same thing. May God forgive me!"

When KrÜger entered the Prince's bedroom to undress him, the latter laconically charged him with a commission that greatly astonished the lackey. But as he saw himself thereby confirmed in his confidential position, he promised obedience and silence. He extinguished the lamp, and went to his post. An hour after, he introduced the student, who had been brought by Gabriel through a back-door, into the bedroom of the Prince. There a conversation took place in a low tone, the consequence of which was that the student hastened from the house in great excitement, and commissioned Gabriel, who was waiting, to order a cab to be ready at an early hour in the morning near the corner of the next street.

A serious company, the flower of the different corps and associations, tried fellows of daring aspect, were assembled at early dawn in the hall of a tavern some distance from the town--an impressive sight for every student heart. On this day most of the sanguinary agreements of the memorable evening were to be settled in their proper order. The first matter in hand concerned the academic honor of the Hereditary Prince. The combatants were drawn up, dressed in their fencing attire; each one stood, with his seconds and umpires, in a corner of the room; the physician--it was the old Teuton of the fiddle--had prepared his apparatus in a corner, and looked with grim satisfaction on his impending work, which promised him new and instructive cases. But the Arminians were unappeasable: once more their seconds addressed themselves to the referees, and complained that the Prince was not there, at least, to acknowledge his representative by his presence. They therefore demanded that the impending combat should not be reckoned for him, but accounted as a personal struggle between the two students, who had frequently come athwart each other in various delicate relations. As the Markomanns had not clear consciences, having equivocally contrived to evade the question, they now proposed that the Prince should subsequently meet the seconds at some place to be agreed upon, where the customary reconciliation should take place.

This was discussed with much bitterness, but briefly, as the hour demanded. Suddenly the freshman, a young Arminian, who kept watch outside, knocked twice at the door. All stood motionless. But the seconds gathered the swords together and threw them into a dark closet, while our student, who, as backer for his comrade, was binding silk about wrist and arm, sprang quickly to the door and opened it. A slight figure in a cloak and felt hat entered. It was the Hereditary Prince. He removed his hat: his face looked paler than usual, but he spoke in a composed manner:

"I have come to you in secret; I beg that the gentlemen present will permit me to take upon myself the responsibility of giving satisfaction and will show me due consideration if I prove unpractised in any of the customary formalities; it is the first time that I try my skill."

There was a silence so profound that one could hear the slightest stir. All present felt that this was a manly act. But Beppo, the Markomann, stood confounded, and began:

"Your Highness's presence now removes the only obstacle to our proceeding with the duel. I insist that the course determined upon be not reversed," and in a lower voice he added, "I beseech your Highness, not to do what is so plainly unnecessary; it will cast upon us all a responsibility that we dare not assume."

The Prince answered firmly: "You have fulfilled your promise; I am as grateful for the will as for the deed. But I am resolute." He took off his coat, and said: "Put the bandages on."

The second of the Arminian turned towards the umpire, saying, "I beg to inform our opponent that not a moment is to be lost; we are not here to exchange civilities; if the Prince wishes to have satisfaction himself, we are ready."

The Markomanns prepared the Prince, and one must acknowledge that the brave fellows did it with as anxious solicitude as if they had in fact been warriors of the race whose name they bore, and were preparing their young king's son for deadly single combat.

The Prince stepped up to the mark; the weapon trembled in the hand of his second, a scarred veteran, as he took his position beside him. "Ready!"--"Go!" The blades whistled in the air. The Prince did not behave badly; a long habit of cautious self-command stood him in good stead; he avoided exposing himself dangerously; and his second drew upon himself a sharp warning from the umpire for inconsiderately exposing his own person within reach of the enemy's blade. The Arminian was far superior in strength and skill, but he afterwards acknowledged to his intimate friends that it had quite disconcerted him to see the princely scion within reach of his broadsword. After the fourth pass, blood streamed from Ulf's broad cheek on to his shirt. His second demanded the continuation of the fight, but the umpire declared the quarrel ended. As the Prince stood still in his place the sword fell from his hand, and there was a slight tremulous motion in his fingers; but he smiled, and there was a pleased expression on his face. In one short quarter of an hour a boy had attained the self-reliance of a man. Before the Prince turned to his antagonist he embraced the Markomann, and said: "Now I can thank you from my heart." The umpire led him to his opponent, who was standing ill-humoredly before the Doctor, but yet could not suppress a smile that gave him some pain, and both shook hands. Then the Arminians approached to greet the Prince, while the umpire called out "Second event."

But the Prince, who had resumed his mantle, went to the director of the duels, and began: "I cannot go away without making a great request. I was, unfortunately, the cause of the painful occurrence that has occasioned this discord among the students. I well know that I have no right here to express any wish, but it would be a pleasant recollection forever for me if I could bring about peace and reconciliation."

At this moment the Prince might have made any demand upon his Markomanns, and even the Arminians were impressed by the extraordinary event. A murmur of approbation passed through the room, and the umpire exclaimed in a loud voice: "The Prince has spoken well." The gloomy looks of some individuals were disregarded; the seconds and seniors held a consultation upon the spot, and the result was that the impending challenges were amicably settled, and a general reconciliation brought about.

The Prince, surrounded by the Markomanns, left the house and jumped into the carriage awaiting him. KrÜger opened the bed-room door to him.

The Chamberlain had been much surprised this morning at the long repose of his young master; but when he came to breakfast he found his Prince sitting comfortably at the table.

After KrÜger had gone away, the Prince began: "The duel has been settled, Weidegg. I fought it out myself." The Chamberlain stood up, horrified. "I tell you it because it could not long be kept a secret. I hope that the quarrel among the students will be settled by it. Do not say anything against it, nor be annoyed at the matter. I have done what I considered to be right, or, at all events, what was least wrong, and am happier than I have been for a long time."

The Markomanns had begged of all present to give their word that the events of the morning should not be spoken of, and one may assume that every one kept his promise. Nevertheless, the news flew quick as lightning through the University and city, that the Prince himself had composed the quarrel by his valiant and manly conduct. The Chamberlain perceived from the indications of pleasure from the Markomanns, and the friendly greetings which his young master received in the street, and still more from the altered demeanor of the Prince himself, that the secret duel had had a good result, and this reconciled him a little to the vexatious occurrence.

When the Prince some time after visited the Rector's house, he was led into the latter's study, and Werner greeted him, smiling. "I was obliged to inform the government of what had lately taken place, and to add, according to the unanimous sentiments of the students summoned to appear before me, that your Highness had, by your interposition, contributed essentially to the restoration of peace. It has become my duty to express to you the warm acknowledgment of the academical authorities. I venture to give expression to my own wish, that all that your Highness has gone through on this occasion may ever leave an agreeable and also profitable recollection."

As the Prince bowed to Ilse, he said, in a low voice: "All has gone off well. I thank you." Ilse looked proudly at her young Prince. Yet she had not recovered from the fearful anxiety of the previous day, and she was more reserved with him than usual.