Here was the
castle, and below it were the cottages and huts of the peasants and
retainers who might be as loyal as ever to the prince whose lineage was
more ancient than that of either Hohenzollern or Hapsburg.
Two young hussars riding down the road, their horses' hoofs ringing on
the stones, brought back the modern world. They were gay young fellows,
smoking cigarettes, their Austrian caps tipped back to let the cool
breeze blow upon their foreheads, and they called cheerfully to the
strong young peasant who walked slowly up the road. John lifted his cap
and answered in a tone that was respectful but not servile.
"You look like one who has traveled far," said the younger of the two, a
mere boy.
"From Lorraine," answered John. "My name is Jean Castel, which is
French, but I, its owner, am not. My family became German before I was
born, and has been so ever since."
"Ah, I see, made German by strength of arms."
"And growing more German every day by will and liking."
"You speak well for a peasant."
"I was a dealer in horses, which took me much over the land and everyone
who travels learns. See, here is my passport."
"Why should I look at your passport?"
"Everyone else does. Then why not you?"
"No, I don't want to see it. I take your word for it You couldn't have
come so deep into Germany, unless you were one of us.
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