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are old.” And, he did not add, his immediate family had not seen those relatives in two years, while Herr Best served his term as liaison for certain Germanic interests in the New York area. This residence had enabled Ernst to attend a good Northeastern college, where he had encountered Lane as a fellow wrestler.
    Lane and Quality waited in the lobby while Ernst went up to meet his father. Lane took her hand unobtrusively, and this familiarity she consented to so long as they were alone. Such stolen contacts with her were more precious to him than considerably more emphatic gestures would have been from other girls, because everything Quality did was sincere. Only a close friend held her hand; only her fiancé kissed her.
    Soon Ernst was back, his face serious. “We have been recalled to Germany,” he said regretfully. “We depart within the fortnight.
    I must help pack and terminate our affairs in this country.”
    â€œTo Germany!” Lane exclaimed. “So soon!”
    â€œI regret I shall not after all be able to serve at your wedding.”
    â€œMaybe it’s temporary,” Lane said. “Maybe you’ll be back next semester—”
    Ernst shook his head. “In the present international climate, this must be final. I fear we shall not be meeting again—as friends.”
    â€œOh, Ernst—I hate this! I only really came to know you this past year, when we started winning meets together. The team needs you—”
    â€œYou must continue the winning tradition for us both, friend. I fear my wrestling days are over. Perhaps I can continue my education at a University in the Fatherland, though normally I should be liable at this time for military service. But either way, we must part.”
    Lane’s protests had been largely rhetorical, though sincere. He knew the way of these things. He had never seen Jed again after separation; probably he would never see Ernst again. All he could do was accept the situation bravely. They shook hands. “Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends,” he said passionately.
    â€œAlways friends,” Ernst agreed. “Politics are nothing.” He turned to Quality. “Lady, I differ with you, but respect your mode. Will you shake hands with me?”
    Silently she offered her hand, granting him this token of respect. It was evident that she was on balance relieved to see him so conveniently out of the picture, but she knew him to be a worthy individual on his own terms.
    Lane gave his friend a final friendly, half-savage punch on the shoulder, striking at the vagaries of fortune, then escorted Quality out of the building.
    â€œBut we’ll stay in touch by mail,” he called back at the door. “Send me your address, wherever you are.”
    â€œI shall,” Ernst agreed, and sadly turned away.

CHAPTER 2
GERMANY
    It was a hot summer afternoon when Herr Best and family approached his brother’s city of Wiesbaden. The journey had been tedious, with delays for ship passage and train passage and assorted clearances and briefings, and Ernst was thoroughly tired of traveling. Now he admired the scenery with increasing nostalgia as the train drew closer to the familiar area. This was the Rhineland, perhaps the most beautiful region of Germany. The rivers wound through the hills and mountains, girt by lovely old castles, the remnants of medieval greatness. These were among the few things that were not tidy, orderly, and cleaned up in Germany, but it would have been a shame to modernize the ruins, which had endured for centuries. The area was thickly wooded, with vegetation threatening to overrun the edifices; Ernst’s mind’s eye filled in what he could not see from the tracks. Yes, Germany remained in certain enchanting respects primal; no one would take it for a modern industrial nation, from this vantage.
    Then the suburban outskirts of Wiesbaden appeared, dominated by agriculture, fruit