Commandant Blumhardt, meanwhile, was thinking of his family living in
Cassel.
"There are eight children, Monsieur," he said with a visible effort to
control emotion. "The two eldest are preparing to become officers. The
youngest is starting school this year. . . . He is just so high."
And with his right hand he measured off the child's diminutive stature.
He trembled with laughter and grief at recalling the little chap. Then
he broke forth into eulogies about his wife--excellent manager of the
home, a mother who was always modestly sacrificing herself for her
children and husband. Ay, the sweet Augusta! . . . After twenty years of
married life, he adored her as on the day he first saw her. In a pocket
of his uniform, he was keeping all the letters that she had written him
since the beginning of the campaign.
"Look at her, Monsieur. . . . There are my children."
From his breast pocket, he had drawn forth a silver medallion, adorned
with the art of Munich, and touching a spring, he displayed the pictures
of all the family--the Frau Kommandeur, of an austere and frigid beauty,
imitating the air and coiffure of the Empress; the Frauleine Kommandeur,
clad in white, with uplifted eyes as though they were singing a musical
romance; and at the end, the children in the uniforms of the army
schools or private institutions.
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