"My beloved Scharnhorst!" And he clasped his friend in his
arms as if it were some longed-for mistress whom he was pressing to
his bosom.
"Blucher, my dear friend, let me go, or you will choke me!"
exclaimed Scharnhorst, laughing. "Come, let us go into the house."
"Yes, come, dearest, best friend!" said Blucher, and encircling
Scharnhorst's neck with his arm, drew him along so hastily that,
gasping for breath, the latter was scarcely able to accompany him.
On entering the sitting-room, Blucher himself divested his friend of
his fur robe, and, throwing it on the floor in his haste, took off
Scharnhorst's cap. "I must look at you, my friend," he exclaimed. "I
must see the face of my dear Scharnhorst, and now that I see it, I
must kiss it! To see you again does me as much good as a fountain in
the desert to the pilgrim dying of thirst."
"Well, but now you must allow me to say a word," said Scharnhorst.
"And let me look at yourself. Remember, it is nearly a year since I
saw anything of you but your hand-writing."
"And that is very illegible," said Blucher, laughing.
"It is at least not as legible and intelligible as your dear face,"
said Scharnhorst. "Here, on this forehead and in these eyes, I can
read quickly and easily all that your excellent head thinks, and
your noble heart feels. And now I read there that I am really
welcome, and need not by any means apologize for not having
announced my visit to you.
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