It is difficult to think of him except as "Karl," after hearing so much of him from Léon. Poor Uncle Lucien many of his acquaintances have looked rather coldly upon him to-day for sheltering one of the hated race. Some even suggest that he may be a spy! Well, I suppose adversity is suspicious. No news to-day.

October 26. This evening, when mamma went to rest, she gave me Léon's cherished letter, saying: "Karl Erhardt might like to read this, Renée; will you take it to him? It will please him to find his friend had not turned against his countrymen." So I took it down.

I found the young German alone in the library. As I entered he hastily replaced a miniature, upon which he was gazing, in his breast, and the dark eyes he raised to mine were very sad. "My mother sent you this," I said. "It is our Léon's last letter. To us it is a priceless treasure. You loved him too, and she thought you might like to read it."

"Indeed I should. Thank you very much," he answered earnestly; and I left him.

Half-an-hour afterwards he came to me in the drawing-room, still holding Léon's letter in his hand. "Mademoiselle Renée," he said, "I cannot thank you enough for letting me see this letter." I do not think he noticed Nina; she was sitting in a window, half hidden by one of the heavy curtains.

"It is very precious to us," I replied, and then I went on to speak of Henri de l'Orme.

He waited till I had finished, and then said abruptly: "Léon gave no name elsewhere, mademoiselle, did he, to the German officer whom he met on the battle-field ?"

"No," I said, " we never heard again; he had his card, but he does not give the name, which of course we should not have known."

"Will mademoiselle think me very fanciful if I tell her I feel persuaded that he was no other than my own dearest friend, my more than brother?"

"Indeed," I said; "may I ask why?" "Because the deed, the spirit, the words were alike his. There are many brave hearts and true, many pure lives and holy, in the German

"If I ever see it," I replied sadly. "But tell me more of your friend. It would be strange should it be the same."

"Not strange that Conrad von Edelstein should be found by the battle death-pillow of friend or foe; soothing, as far as human tenderness and care can soothe, the last dread agony, and speaking holy words of grace and truth, capable, as your brother testifies, of bringing life and peace' to the departing spirit, even at the eleventh hour. When weary men flung themselves down on a soldier's hard pillow to rest after the exhausting toil of battle or march, Conrad was ever seeking, like One greater than he, to be about his Father's business.' When special comrades or friends were down, we all sought them on the blood-stained field, but he sought the dying. Frenchman or German was all one to him. For he went with the name of Jesus on his lips, with the glad tidings of salvation unto the uttermost, finished, completed, available even for the acceptance of dying hands at the dark portals of the grave: Foremost and bravest in the fight, firmest and truest in march and camp, gentlest and tenderest in sorrow and death, Conrad's picture is recognizable among thousand." His voice grew husky and failed. Then he continued: "You must pardon my enthusiasm for my friend. You would understand it if you could know half what he is. And again I say it was he, and no other, your brother met. By the work he did, and the way it was done, by the words he spoke, by the strange power of drawing out love and sympathy. in answer to his own, from other hearts, it was he. You will see!"

I sighed, for my hope for Léon has grown very, very faint. But perhaps Karl thought rather of the knowledge reaching me through him and his friend when they should meet again. "But would not Léon have met your friend in Munich ?" I said. "No; I regretted that much at the time. The Von Edelsteins were absent at their countryseat. I would have liked my two friends to have met. I felt sure Léon would have loved Conrad."

"Where is your friend now?" I asked.

แ 'Ah! where?" he answered. "That is hard to tell, mademoiselle. He left with a detachment of troops for Metz after Sedan; but I believe afterwards went south to join Von Werder. That is all I know. Sometimes I think the grain is so ripe it must be soon garnered. For his mother's sake, and his sister's, as well as my own, I trust he is safe."

"He has a mother and sister then?"

"Yes; a widowed mother and an only sister, to whom he is all such a son and brother should be!" His face flushed, and, after a slight hesitation, he added: "Conrad and I are brothers in heart now, Mademoiselle Renée, but if God spares us through the war, we shall be brothers in reality. That is Thekla von Edelstein," he added, "my Thekla," and placed the photograph he had been looking at in the library in my hand.

It was of a fair young girl, with sweet, arch face, large soft hazel eyes, rosy pouting lips, and rich masses of waving light-brown hair drawn back from a broad white forehead. It was a face one could not look at without deep interest. "She is very lovely, very sweet looking," I said at last. "Is she at all like her brother?"

"Yes," he replied; "the hair and brow are the same in both, but Conrad's eyes are blue, his features more regularly cut, and his ordinary expression one of calm, earnest thought, except when lighted by a smile of wonderful brightness and sweetness, that flashes like a sunbeam over his whole face. It is strange he should have left Germany heart-whole, at four-and-twenty, is it not?" he added more lightly. I smiled. think I am painting in couleur de rose," he said, laughing, as he returned his miniature to its place; "but indeed it is not so. Conrad is all I have described him."

"And Thekla?"

"You

"Ah! I will not trust myself to speak of her!" he admitted gaily; but there was a mist gathering in the dark eyes, that he walked to a window to conceal, and the conversation ended.

Mamma was much interested in what I told her, and this evening he spoke more of his friend, who certainly holds only the second place in his heart. He has two brothers-Otto and

Wilhelm-in the army, and one, Fritz, an army surgeon. So his mother and two sisters have a fourfold anxiety. His father is an invalid. I cannot help hoping he will regain his freedom soon, though it will make him an enemy once more. But we have too much sympathy with the loving hearts in that German home, hungering now, like our own, for tidings that cannot come, to think of that; and his position will be a trying one as his strength returns. It is scarcely safe for a German uniform to be shown in the streets, at least if its wearer be alone,

Last night mamma inadvertently called him by his name, and apologized for doing so, saying it was so familiar to us from Léon's lips. "If you would only call me so, all of you,” he said very earnestly, "for Léon's sake. It is so long since I have heard my own name." It was not possible to refuse a request so pathetically urged, and mamma at least promised to do so.

October 27.-We have now another source of anxiety. The government has asked for 40,000 volunteers of the National Guards. To our surprise and shame only 7000 have responded to the appeal, and of course Uncle Lucien is of the number. So his post will no longer be on the ramparts, but at the head of one of the "marching battalions" intended for active service. The Prussians have been seen fixing siege guns in position, and their troops are being massed on the southern side of the city, so perhaps an attack is imminent.

There is a rising spirit of discontent with General Trochu. People say he talks, but does not act. Uncle Lucien has great confidence in him. The conversation is less free since Karl Erhardt has been here. And I can scarcely help smiling sometimes at the covert efforts made to impress him with a sense of our heroism and approaching triumph, and of the wretched state of his countrymen without. As he has been in Paris since one of the first days of the siege, he knows very little of their present position, and says less, except when questioned. Victor came home for an hour this afternoon, and, with his usual frankness, spoke freely of our position. Karl's answer saddened me. He spoke with such good sense and moderation, so different from the hollow bombast of which one grows so

weary. Yet I can see he does not think it at all impossible that the Germans will hold their ground even through the winter. But that they should fail and we conquer, ultimately, he does. His words carried conviction to me, and even Victor seemed to contest them less vehemently than he would once have done.

We parted from Victor with aching hearts to-night. It is probable that an engagement will take place to-morrow. One thing struck me forcibly in the course of the conversation. The German seemed to have a far better knowledge of the environs of Paris and the road-chart of France than the Frenchman. I had heard this commented upon before. Our enemies say our national vanity is only equalled by our national ignorance. I am afraid there is some truth in this. We have been too self-satisfied, and other nations have passed us in the race.

CHAPTER XVI.

HOPE.

Hope unyielding to despair, Springs for ever fresh and fair; Earth's serenest prospects fly, Hope's enchantments never die."

J. MONTGOMERY.

October 28.-This morning, as we were sitting at an earlier breakfast than usual, before Uncle Lucien's departure, Colonel Labaudière entered, and, without speaking, placed a copy of Le Combat in my uncle's hand, pointing to an article headed "Treason of Marshal Bazaine," and bordered deeply with black.

"It is not true, sir!" my uncle said fiercely. And such it appears is the case. A proclamation has been issued by government denying the reported fall of Metz, and the mob were with difficulty prevented from sacking the office of the offending paper. But some are doubtful. Karl Erhardt say it probably is true; that the city must be at an extremity ere this.

This has been an anxious day. Much firing from the forts, and great agitation in the city. Late this evening sounds of shouting, and the excited cries of people in the street, told us something had happened, and Louis went to inquire. It is said we have had a great success, that the Prussians have been driven back, and

that our troops still occupy the position gained. Victory is no less dangerous to life and limb than defeat, and yet insensibly it affects our spirits, and makes us less fearful for the fate of our beloved ones, of whom we have of course not heard as yet.

Augustine looked in for a few minutes. only to-day. The headquarters of the International Ambulance are to be moved to-morrow to the Grand Hotel, on account of the unfitness of the former building for the purpose. This will be better for Augustine. I hope he will come home for a little rest sometimes; he looks terribly haggard and worn.

At Nina's request I asked Karl, with whom we have become quite at home, whether he and his friend were Protestants. The earnest, solemn tone in which he alluded the other day to sacred names, so different from that usual to young men, made us feel he probably shared his friend's sentiments on those subjects. Nina has been haunted with the fear that Léon may have died a heretic. Poor child, what horrors her morbid fancy conjures up. But if it were this Conrad von Edelstein, she said, whose words had had such an effect upon him, he was a Bavarian, and the Bavarians are good Catholics. asked Karl. "Yes," he said, "the Von Edelsteins have been Protestants since the days of the Reformation."

"And you?"

So I

The blood rushed to his brow as he replied, "My family are of the national faith; but I, I am a Christian.”

"A Christian? Do you mean a Catholic?"

No, mademoiselle, not as you understand it. I am what is called a Protestant; that is, I rest all my trust for salvation on the work of Christ alone, and protest against the false teaching of the Church of Rome. At least, that is what I ought to do; but I have failed miserably."

I looked at him with surprised interest. He evidently spoke with much effort. As he was silent, I said: "I do not quite understand what the Protestants do think and believe; only I have always been told that they were very wrong

beyond the pale of salvation. But the words Léon quotes in his letter are good words; they have been very precious and helpful to my

mother, just as two short sentences spoken by a little stranger English child have been to me, in these last sad weeks. Yet we have been troubled lest Léon should have been led into heresy, anything that the Holy Church forbids."

Mademoiselle," he answered, "you need not fear. Those words are the words of the Lord Jesus himself; and he is the One who is 'the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' What he has once spoken, he cannot deny. No one can go wrong by resting upon his word."

"But the priests of the Church alone can properly understand that word," I said; "we cannot judge of it for ourselves."

"Mademoiselle Renée, try it," he said earnestly. "God has given it for all. I cannot speak of these things," he continued. "If Conrad were here he would make all clear; because he ever lives in the light of his Father's smile. But

I-it is different."

"Any Protestants I have known have not seemed to think much of God's word, or of God," I said; "there must be something different in your friend's religion."

"Something different, indeed," he said; "for the difference is that between life and death, the shell and the kernel, the false and the true. I think there are three kinds of Protestants, perhaps I should rather say Christians,-those to whom their faith is an hereditary belief, a dead letter, nothing more; those who, like Peter, love their Master, and follow him 'afar off,' like myself; and those who, with the beloved apostle, lie on his bosom, drink in of his Spirit, and tread closely in his footsteps. Of such is Conrad."

October 29.-Still no news from Victor or Uncle Lucien. The troops are outside yet. Great numbers of wounded are being brought in. Mamma looks sadly worn and anxious; it is curious that she should have a "Prussian" officer for a comforter. But Karl's sympathy, kindness, and knowledge of military affairs makes him well fitted for the office. He is almost well again, and it must be hard for him to be pent in here; but he does not show the feeling. He seemed surprised when he heard it was Le Bourget that had been occupied by our troops. Why, they cannot hold it!" he exclaimed.

"Our-I beg your pardon the Saxon batteries must command it entirely. And of what use can it be?" I always notice he avoids the word "our," with reference to the German troops or positions, always prefixing their nationality, in consideration of our feelings. His words made my spirits sink. my spirits sink. Can it be that this "victory" is to end, like the rest, in a harvest only of wounds and death?

October 30.-Uncle Lucien and Victor have not returned. The suspense is trying mamma terribly; but there is no greater cause for alarm than usual, as we know the troops have not reentered the city, and Colonel Labaudière called this morning to tell mamma that Uncle Lucien and Victor were both safe when the engagement had nearly terminated. He had heard this from a wounded man of the former's corps. It would have been difficult to bear up through this day without these hopeful tidings and Karl's pleasant conversation.

It seems his friend Conrad first made him think of his soul. He does not speak much about religion; I wish he did. The Protestants seem to feel sure that their sins are forgiven, and that those words of the Lord Jesus do mean what they say, that just believing what he says, and in what he has done on the cross, is all that he requires of us. It is very beautiful, but it cannot be right; it is too easy, so mamma thinks. It is only one side, she says, and onesided truth is error. I wish Karl had his Bible It could surely be no harm to read it just a little; but then it would be German, and we could not do so. He speaks French very fluently.

October 31.-Victor has been wounded,—only slightly, thank God!-and he will remain at home a few days. A ball passed through the flesh of the right arm, in the battle of last evening, when our troops were driven out of Le Bourget, for they have been driven out, and all is as it was before. The disappointment will be very great, such extravagant stories had been set afloat as usual. The Prussians returned to Le Bourget by night, and surprised the Mobiles who occupied it. Some fought bravely, others fled. But Victor says the blame rests with the bad management of the Government, through which the men were left without food

Uncle Lucien was unhurt. I think both he and Victor are discouraged and disgusted, the former with citizen, the latter with peasant, soldiers. It was late this evening when they reached home. They say there is great excitement in the city, and that we are on the verge of a revolution. Uncle Lucien has gone to the Hôtel de Ville; but Victor has been with much difficulty persuaded to go to bed, instead of accompanying him. Mamma's pale beseeching face was the one argument he could not resist. All Paris will watch to-night; would that I could add-and pray. But people's spirits seem so light. Yet anarchy within and the foe without would be fearful.

is over.

November 1.-Thank God! all internal danger Within the last twenty-four hours the Government of the Defence has been imprisoned, deposed, released, and restored. General Trochu and his colleagues were pent up in the Hôtel de Ville the greater part of last night; but somehow -it is scarcely known how-all is right again, the Government reinstated, and no blood shed. Of course, the city is still in a ferment. The générale was beaten during the night, and the streets filled with troops. But Uncle Lucien thinks the danger is past.

Part of the agitation seems to have been caused by the supposition that peace was about to be made. M. Thiers has been permitted to enter Paris through the Prussian lines, at the request of the Czar; and the wildest reports are current as to his success at the foreign courts to which he has journeyed, in the vain hope of enlisting aid for France. For the hope was vain, Uncle Lucien says. But he has gone back to Versailles to-day, to conclude an honourable armistice, or peace, if possible. Will he succeed? The veriest hairbreadth of hope raises our hearts.

It is so delightful to have Victor at home once more. He is pale from loss of blood; but Dr. Vaud assures us his wound signifies nothing; and as it is impossible for him to use his arm, we shall keep him with us some days. A friend of his, Ernest Baroche, met with a glorious death at Le Bourget. Glorious, yet melancholy and depressing. In the vain at

charge, he advanced absolutely alone against a Prussian column, and fell pierced with many bullets, far on in the Prussian lines. Karl and Victor fraternized at once.

November 2.-To-day was the "Jour des Morts." Our dead lie far away, many on distant battlefields, others in the family resting-place in Bretagne; but friends are lying in the various cemeteries of Paris; and there were graves in Père la Chaise, on which we wished to place the usual wreaths of affectionate remembrance. So we went there, all but mamma, and Karl, of

course.

It might have been supposed that when the present was so full of thrilling interest, the past might be forgotten: but it was not so. Many of the tombs of the great and of the family chapels were unvisited and empty, for their owners were away; but the lowlier graves were thronged with an almost unusual crowd of mourning friends. Ah! the tears that fell over mounds on which the grass of years was waving, the prayers raised apparently over the graves of long buried hopes, were often not for those who slept quietly beneath them, but for other sleepers, over whose red, untimely graves the stars alone keep watch, the clouds alone rain tears. Is Léon's of such? Solemn masses were offered at the churches for the souls of those who have died for France this year. We attended several; but to me there was something ghastly and oppressive in the thought of linking Léon's name with theirs, faint as is my hope of his being spared to us.

--

All seems quiet in the city, though a Plebiscitum is being taken - Yes or No for the Government; and a general impression prevails that an honourable peace is about to be concluded. Karl Erhardt looked grave and thoughtful while we spoke of the masses for the dead. I have been told Protestants think it a sin to pray for theirs. What an unhappy belief that must be. It is the one consolation left us when our beloved are gone.

November 3.-To-day we have been quite merry. Even Nina has been rather less sad. Karl and Victor, both little more than boys, for the former is not twenty-two, have been full of