They were careful, however, to
keep their malice within certain bounds, for they knew that the
baron was in favor with the commandant of the district.
One morning the baron and his wife, looking from their window in
a wing of the house, saw with surprise and horror a score or more
of German soldiers assembled beside the beech-avenue, with axes
and saws, preparing to begin work.
"What are they going to do there?" cried he in dismay, and hurried
down to the dining-room, where the officers sat at breakfast, giving
orders to an attentive corporal.
"A thousand pardons, Highness," interrupted the baron; "forgive
my haste. But surely you are not going to cut down my avenue of
beeches?"
"Why not?" said the prince, swinging around in his chair. "They
are good wood."
"But, sir," stammered the baron, trembling with excitement, "those
trees--they are an ancient heritage of the house--planted by my
grandfather a century ago--an old possession--spare them for their
age."
"You exaggerate," sneered the prince. "They are not old. I have on
my hunting estate in Thuringia oaks five hundred years old.
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