More officers were coming in now. Some of them stood before the great
fire, warming themselves and drying their uniforms, the hail having
begun to drive harder. He thought he might see some one whom he knew. It
was possible that von Arnheim, the young prince of whom he had such
pleasant memories, was in Metz, and it was possible also that he might
come to the Inn of the Golden Lion. And there was young Kratzek, who he
knew had been exchanged. Some chance might make him, too, enter the inn,
but John's second thought told him the fulfillment of his wish would be
folly. They were his official enemies and must seize him if he made
himself known to them. He was merely lonesome, longing for the sight of
a familiar face.
His own appearance had been changed greatly by a stubby young beard that
called aloud for a razor. Clad in a peasant's garb, and with a cap drawn
down over his face Carstairs and Wharton themselves might have passed
without knowing him.
Although the young Germans did not appear, one whom John expected least
came. A man of medium size, built compactly, and with a short brown
beard, trimmed neatly to a point, walked briskly through the room, and
spread out cold hands before the flames. John was dozing in his chair,
but the man's walk and manner roused him at once. They seemed familiar,
and a glance at the face showed him that it was Weber.
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