304? Ten Years of my Life. 



that I induced his mother to send him with me. He is a 

 brave, ambitious boy, and I am sure he will be always near 

 ne and will be killed also.' 



Listening to this conversation my heart rose to ray throat, for 

 I had felt long ago what my husband said ; I was almost sure 

 that I should never see him again alive. 



On Tuesday, July 26, the 'vhole arrny commenced its move- 

 ment towards the French frontier. The French marshals had 

 made a great mistake and lost precious time, fooled by the 

 skilful manoeuvering ot the garrisons of Saarlouis and Saar- 

 brucken, which succeeded in making them believe that the 

 whole Prussian army was close behind them, when it was still 

 forming many hundreds of miles off. General Moltke would 

 rather run the risk of letting the French advance to the Rhine, 

 than that 01 a defeat if meeting them prematurely with nisuffi- 

 cient forces. 



The regiment Augusta was to march Jso on that day. I 

 had wished so much to go with the regiment, to be near my 

 husband, for I always imagined that nothing could happen if I 

 was with him. Count Waldersee was willing, and said if I 

 really wished to go I might go in the hospital waggon, but 

 Salm was decidedly against it and I had to submit. 1 suppose 

 he was right, for warfcire with the Prussian army was indeed 

 a far difterent thing from what it war. in the United States or 

 Mexico. 



Though all preparations -vvere made already the evening be- 

 fore, I rose at three o'clock a.m., for the regiment was to 

 march at half-past five. 1 never in all my life felt so wretched 

 as I felt on that morning. I had said good-bye many times 

 before to my husband under similar circumstances, but never 

 had apprehencTed that anything would happen to him ; an 

 inward voice telling me always that we should meet again. 

 This time it was different. Suddenly was revealed to me the 

 meaning of that dread which had hovered around me since the 

 commencement of the year. I walked about like one in a 

 dream, and whoever saw me might have imagined that I telt 

 but little, for the greatest grief is silent. I might have remem- 

 bered that thousands of loving wives perhaps had at that time 

 feelings similar to mine, but in the moment of parting such re- 

 flections afford no consolation, for nobody thinks of m.-^king 

 them, as sorrow dwellincr in the heart and not in the brain 



