A few months before the consul was transferred from Schlachtstadt to another post his memory of the departed Karl was revived by a visit from Adlerkreutz. The general looked grave.
"You remember Unser Karl?" he said.
"Yes."
"Do you think he was an impostor?"
"As regards his American citizenship, yes! But I could not say more.""So!" said the general. "A very singular thing has happened," he added, twirling his mustache. "The Inspector of police has notified us of the arrival of a Karl Schwartz in this town. It appears he is the REAL Karl Schwartz, identified by his sister as the only one. The other, who was drowned, was an impostor. Hein?""Then you have secured another recruit?" said the consul smilingly.
"No. For this one has already served his time in Elsass, where he went when he left here as a boy. But, Donnerwetter, why should that dumb fool take his name?""By chance, I fancy. Then he stupidly stuck to it, and had to take the responsibilities with it. Don't you see?" said the consul, pleased with his own cleverness.
"Zo-o!" said the general slowly, in his deepest voice. But the German exclamation has a variety of significance, according to the inflection, and Adlerkreutz's ejaculation seemed to contain them all.
. . . . . .
It was in Paris, where the consul had lingered on his way to his new post. He was sitting in a well-known cafe, among whose habitues were several military officers of high rank. A group of them were gathered round a table near him. He was idly watching them with an odd recollection of Schlachtstadt in his mind, and as idly glancing from them to the more attractive Boulevard without.
The consul was getting a little tired of soldiers.
Suddenly there was a slight stir in the gesticulating group and a cry of greeting. The consul looked up mechanically, and then his eyes remained fixed and staring at the newcomer. For it was the dead Karl; Karl, surely! Karl!--his plump figure belted in a French officer's tunic; his flaxen hair clipped a little closer, but still its fleece showing under his kepi. Karl, his cheeks more cherubic than ever--unchanged but for a tiny yellow toy mustache curling up over the corners of his full lips. Karl, beaming at his companions in his old way, but rattling off French vivacities without the faintest trace of accent. Could he be mistaken? Was it some phenomenal resemblance, or had the soul of the German private been transmigrated to the French officer.
The consul hurriedly called the garcon. "Who is that officer who has just arrived?""It is the Captain Christian, of the Intelligence Bureau," said the waiter, with proud alacrity. "A famous officer, brave as a rabbit,--un fier lapin,--and one of our best clients. So drole, too, such a farceur and mimic. M'sieur would be ravished to hear his imitations.""But he looks like a German; and his name!"
"Ah, he is from Alsace. But not a German!" said the waiter, absolutely whitening with indignation. "He was at Belfort. So was I. Mon Dieu! No, a thousand times no!""But has he been living here long?" said the consul.
"In Paris, a few months. But his Department, M'sieur understands, takes him EVERYWHERE! Everywhere where he can gain information."The consul's eyes were still on the Captain Christian. Presently the officer, perhaps instinctively conscious of the scrutiny, looked towards him. Their eyes met. To the consul's surprise, the ci-devant Karl beamed upon him, and advanced with outstretched hand.
But the consul stiffened slightly, and remained so with his glass in his hand. At which Captain Christian brought his own easily to a military salute, and said politely:--"Monsieur le Consul has been promoted from his post. Permit me to congratulate him.""You have heard, then?" said the consul dryly.
"Otherwise I should not presume. For our Department makes it a business--in Monsieur le Consul's case it becomes a pleasure--to know everything.""Did your Department know that the real Karl Schwartz has returned?" said the consul dryly.
Captain Christian shrugged his shoulders. "Then it appears that the sham Karl died none too soon," he said lightly. "And yet"--he bent his eyes with mischievous reproach upon the consul.
"Yet what?" demanded the consul sternly.
"Monsieur le Consul might have saved the unfortunate man by accepting him as an American citizen and not helping to force him into the German service."The consul saw in a flash the full military significance of this logic, and could not repress a smile. At which Captain Christian dropped easily into a chair beside him, and as easily into broken German English:--"Und," he went on, "dees town--dees Schlachtstadt is fine town, eh?
Fine womens? Goot men? Und peer and sausage? Blenty to eat and trink, eh? Und you und te poys haf a gay times?"The consul tried to recover his dignity. The waiter behind him, recognizing only the delightful mimicry of this adorable officer, was in fits of laughter. Nevertheless, the consul managed to say dryly:--"And the barracks, the magazines, the commissariat, the details, the reserves of Schlachtstadt were very interesting?""Assuredly."
"And Rheinfestung--its plans--its details, even its dangerous foundations by the river--they were to a soldier singularly instructive?""You have reason to say so," said Captain Christian, curling his little mustache.
"And the fortress--you think?"
"Imprenable! Mais"--
The consul remembered General Adlerkreutz's "Zo-o," and wondered.
