“He is welcome, heartily welcome!” cried the colonel joyfully, swiftly advancing toward the door, through which the person announced had just entered the room.  It was an old man with a long white beard, his head covered with a large wig, whose stiff, powdered locks adorned the temples on both sides of his pale, emaciated face.  Thick, bushy brows shaded a pair of large dark eyes, whose youthful fire formed a strange contrast to the bowed frame and the white hair.  His figure, which must once have been stately and vigorous, was attired in the latest fashion, and the elegance of his dress showed that Baron von Moudenfels, though a man perhaps seventy, had not yet done with the vanities of this world, but was ready to pay them homage.  In his right hand, over which fell a broad lace cuff, he held an artistically carved cane, on whose gold handle he leaned, as he moved wearily forward, and a pin with beautiful diamonds glittered in the huge lace jabot on his breast.

Colonel Mariage held out both hands to the old man, but the baron contented himself with placing the finger-tips of the little hand adorned with glittering rings in the colonel’s right hand a moment, and then sank into the armchair, panting for breath.

“Pardon me,” he gasped, “but the exertion of climbing your two long flights of stairs has exhausted my strength, and I must rest.  You probably see that I am a poor, fragile old man, who has but a few steps to take to his grave.”

“But who will probably carefully avoid them,” replied the colonel, smiling.  “You are, as you say, an old man, but in this aged form dwells a fiery, youthful soul, whose strength of will will support the body so long as it needs the aid.”

“So long as it is necessary to the native land, yes,” cried the baron eagerly; “so long as there are foes to fight, friends to aid.  Yes, the last years of my life belong to my native land and the foes who oppress it, and I know that I shall not die until I have attained the object of my life, until I have helped to overthrow the tyrant who has not only rendered my native land, Germany, wretched, but is also hurling his own country, France, into ruin.”

Colonel Mariage glanced around the room with a hasty, anxious look.  “For heaven’s sake,” he whispered, “don’t speak so loud, baron; who knows whether my valet is not a paid spy; whether he is not standing at the door listening to betray me at once to Count Andreossy, or even to the emperor.”

“My dear colonel,” said the baron, smiling, “that is why it is quite time that we should secure you against such treason, and remove those who threaten you.”

“What do you mean by that, baron?” asked the colonel timidly.  “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that the great hour of decision is approaching,” replied the baron solemnly.  “I mean that ere a week has passed, the world will be released from the yoke which oppresses it—­released from the evil demon, Napoleon.”