"Another wounded pipe, Christian," said Blucher, pointing at the
pieces on the floor. "Pick them up, and see if there is not a short
pipe among them."
"No, your excellency," said Christian, approaching and carefully
picking up the pieces, "that is no wounded pipe, but a dead one.
Shall I fetch another to your excellency?"
He was about to turn away, but Blucher seized the lap of his hussar-
jacket. "Show me the broken pipe," he said, anxiously; "let me see
if it really will not do any more."
"Well, look at it, your excellency," said the pipe-master, in a
dignified tone, holding up the bowl with a very small part of the
tube. "It is impossible for you to use it again. If I should fill
the bowl with tobacco and light it, your excellency, it would
assuredly burn your nose."
"That is true," said Blucher, mournfully; "I believe you are right.
I might burn my nose, and that would be altogether unnecessary now.
I burn it here at Breslau every day."
"How did you do it?" asked Christian, in dismay. "Your excellency
has not yet smoked short pipes."
"Because I am myself like a short pipe," cried Blucher, with a grim
smile, "or because the miserable, sneaking vermin at court--well,
what does it concern you? Why do you stand and stare at me? Go,
Christian, and fetch me a new Pipe."
"What, a new pipe!" asked a voice by his side.
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