"What do you mean by that, sergeant?" the new-comer asked.
"A spy from the ramparts. I was keeping him warm, Herr Captain," was the answer.
"But this is no spy; this is Sadi the fiddler."
"Ludenmayer! You, my friend!" he exclaimed.
"Sadi! Old Sadi the fiddler! Impossible!"
"Indeed, it is possible. Old Sadi, as you say, and so hungry that he could eat the bones off your dishes."
"Then he shall sup with us. A hungry man makes friends with strange company, and we are that, as you guess, Maître Sadi. Come, sergeant, fill our friend a bowl of soup. Let him spy out that to begin with. Eh, Sadi, you will not refuse a bowl of soup even from the Prussians? Then let us see you fall to. We can talk of old friends afterwards."
There were some murmurs at this from the men about the table, but the sergeant obeyed the order sullenly, and a bowl of the hot soup was set before the astonished Sadi almost before he had realized that a lucky accident had saved his life--for the moment, at any rate. Ludenmayer, honestly glad to see an old acquaintance, even under such circumstances, began to assure the rest that they had nothing to fear from Sadi; but at this the fiddler put down his spoon and flatly contradicted his friend.
"Not so," he said, blandly; "if it were in my power I would hang the lot of you!"
They laughed at him now--laughed at him for a foolish crank, airing his absurd patriotism even at the pistol's mouth. While some of them said that he would soon have Prussians enough for his neighbours in Strasburg, others promised the city twenty, thirty, forty hours of her freedom.
"And we shall have you for our guest, friend Sadi," Ludenmayer said, affably. "We like you so much that we cannot part with you. No, we must certainly keep you until the Red Prince comes in; after that we will send you to Munich to fiddle at the opera. Eh, my boy, there's a career--to scrape this new Wagner stuff and hear the madmen say that you are a genius. Will you come to Munich and see little Lucy again? I know that you will, Sadi."
Sadi sighed, but did not answer his friend. If the name of Lucy were a sweet remembrance to him, this promise of Strasburg's surrender and of the humiliation it must put upon France cut him to the quick. These men about him, jesting in the face of death, defiant of all risks--how much, perchance, they had done in the terrible weeks of the siege to bring about this inevitable cataclysm and the ruin and death which attended it! Their reward would be promotion and applause from those who had contrived France's misfortunes. None would punish them, none bring them to account, Sadi reflected bitterly; and, reflecting, he asked himself of a sudden if he were not the appointed agent--he, the humble fiddler, sent there by the chances of the night to discover and, it might be, to betray them.