"That we shall," replied Maurice; "and the best in the cellars."Only the Marshal said nothing; he knew what war was.In his youth he had served in Transylvania, and he was not minded to laugh and jest.Then, too, there was injustice on both sides.
Poor devil! as his thoughts recurred to the king.Touched for the moment by the wings of ambition, which is at best a white vulture, he had usurped another's throne, and to this end! But he was less answerable than the archbishop, who had urged him.
Occasionally he glanced back at the native troops, the foot, the horse, the artillery, and scowled.From these his glance wandered to the cold, impassive face of General Kronau, who rode at his side, and he rubbed his nose.Kronau had been a favorite of Albrecht's...How would he act? In truth, the Marshal's thoughts were not altogether pleasant.Some of these men surrounding him, exchanging persiflage, might never witness another sunset.For, while the world would look upon this encounter as one looks upon a comedy, for some it would serve as tragedy.Often he lent his ear to the gay banter of the young American, and watched the careless smile on his face.What was he doing here? Why was he risking his life for no cause whatever, an alien, in natural sympathy neither with the kingdom nor with the duchy? A sad, grim smile parted his lips.
"O, the urbanity of the young and the brave!" he murmured.
Maurice felt the old familiar exhilaration--the soldier's exhilaration--quicken the beat of his pulse.He did not ask himself why he was here; he knew why.A delightful flower had sprung up in his heart, and fate had nipped it.Whither this new adventure would lead him he cared not.From now on life for him must be renewed by continual change and excitement.Since no one depended on him, his life was his to dispose of as he willed.
Friends? He laughed.He knew the world too well.He himself was his best friend, for he had always been true to himself.
He might be shot, but he had faced that possibility before.
Besides, to-day's experience would be new to him.He had never witnessed a battle in the open, man to man, in bright, resplendent uniforms.A ragged, dusty troop of brown-skinned men in faded blue, with free and easy hats, irregular of formation, no glory, no brilliancy, skirmishing with outlawed white men and cunning Indians, that was the extent of his knowledge by experience.True, these self-same men in dingy blue fought with a daring such as few soldiers living possessed; but they lacked the ideal picturesqueness which made this army so attractive.
The sharp edges of his recent fatigue were not yet dulled, but his cuirass sat lightly upon him, the sound of the dangling saber at his side smote pleasantly his ear, and the black Mecklenberg under him was strong and active.To return to Madame's chateau in the guise of a conqueror was a most engaging thought.She had humbled his self-love, now to humble hers! He no longer bothered himself about Beauvais, whose case he had placed in the hands of the Austrian ambassador.
Gay and debonair he rode that late September afternoon.No man around him had so clear an eye nor so constant a vivacity.Since he had nothing but his life to lose, he had no fear.Let the theater be full of light while the play lasted, and let the curtain fall to a round of huzzas! For a few short hours ago he had kissed a woman's hand and had looked into her sad brown eyes.
"Why you do this I do not know, nor shall I ask.Monsieur, my prayers go with you." Was not that an amulet? His diplomatic career! He fell to whistling.
"Ah! que j'aime les militaires!"
More than once the prince felt the sting of envy in his heart at the sight of this embodiment of supreme nonchalance.It spoke of a healthy salt in the veins, a salt such as kings themselves can not always boast of.A foreigner, a republican? No matter; a gallant man.
"Monsieur," he said impulsively, "you shall always possess my friendship, once we are well out of this.""Thanks, your Highness," replied Maurice, and laughing; "the after-thought is timely!"The sun lay close to the western rim of hills; an opal sky encompassed the earth; the air was balmy.
"The French call this St.Martin's summer," said Maurice."In my country we call it Indian summer--ah!" lifting in his stirrups.
The army was approaching a hill, when suddenly a whirlwind of dust rolled over the summit, and immediately a reconnoitering patrol came dashing into view, waving their sabers aloft....
The enemy was less than a mile away, and advancing rapidly.
To anticipate.Madame the duchess had indeed contemplated striking the blow at night.That morning, like the brave Amazon she was, she had pitched her tent in the midst of her army, to marshal and direct its forces.It was her intention to be among the first to enter Bleiberg; for she was a soldier's daughter, and could master the inherent fears of her sex.
That same morning a woman entered the lines and demanded an audience.What passed between her and Madame the duchess others never knew.She had also been apprised of the prisoners' escape, but, confident that they would not be able to make a crossing, she disdained pursuit.The prince had missed his wedding day; he was no longer of use to her.As to the American, he would become lost, and that would be the end of him.
But the Englishman....He was conscience eternally barking at her heels.The memory of that kiss still rankled in her mind, and not an hour went by in which she did not chide herself for the folly.How to get rid of him perplexed her.Here he was, in the uniform of a Lieutenant-Colonel, ready to go to any lengths at a sign from her.There was something in her heart which she had not yet analyzed.First of all, her crown; as to her heart, there was plenty of time in which to study that peculiar and unstable organ.The possibility of the prince's arriving in Bleiberg before her in no way disturbed her.Whenever her attack was made, failure would not attend it.She broke camp at two o'clock and took the road leisurely toward Bleiberg.
