THE FORTUNES OF WAR
War! The whole city was in tumult.The guests were leaving the hotels, the timid were preparing to fly, and shopkeepers were putting up their blinds and hiding their valuables; the parks and cafes were deserted.The railway booking office was crowded, and a babel of tongues quarreled for precedence.The siege of Paris was but yesterday's news, and tourists did not propose to be walled in from the outer world.Some looked upon the scene as a comic opera; others saw the tragedy of men snarling at one another's throats.
Two hundred gendarmes patrolled the streets; for in war time the dregs of a city float to the surface.Above the foreign legations flags rose, offering protection to all those who possessed the right to claim it.Less than four thousand troops had marched from the city that day, but these were the flower of the army, consisting of two thousand foot, six cannon and twelve hundred horse.Europe has always depended largely on the cavalry, which in the past has been a most formidable engine in warfare.
With gay plumes and banners, glittering helmets and flashing cuirasses, they had gone forth to meet Madame and drive her back across the range.They had made a brave picture, especially the royal cuirassiers, who numbered three hundred strong, and who were to fight not only for glory, but for bread.Fifty of them had been left behind to guard the palaces.
In the royal bedchamber the king lay, all unconscious of the fate impending.The brain had ceased to live; only a feeble pulse stirred irregularly.The state physician shook his head, and, from time to time, laid his fingers on the unfeeling wrist.
To him it was a matter of a few hours.
But to the girl, whose face lay hidden in the counterpane, close to one of those senseless hands, to her it was a matter of a breaking heart, of eyes which could be no longer urged to tears, the wells having dried up.Dear God, she thought, how cruel it was! Her tried and trusted friend, the one playmate of her childhood, was silently slipping out of her life forever.Ah, what to her were crowns and kingdoms, aye, and even war? Her father dead, what mattered it who reigned? How she prayed that he might live! They would go away together, and live in peace and quiet, undisturbed by the storms of intrigue....It was not to be; he was dying.She would be the wife of no man; her father, hovering in spirit above her, would read her heart and understand.Dead, he would ask no sacrifice of her.Henceforth only God would be her king, and she would worship him in some sacred convent.
The old valet, who had served his master from boyhood, stood in the anteroom and fumbled his lips, his faded eyes red with weeping.He was losing the only friend he had.Elsewhere the servants wandered about restlessly, waiting for news from the front, to learn if they, too, were to join in the mad flight from the city.Few servants love masters in adversity.Self-interest is the keynote to their existences.
In the east wing three men were holding a whispered consultation.
The faces of two were pale and deep-lined; the face of the third expressed a mixture of condolence and triumph.These three gentlemen were the archbishop, the chancellor and the Austrian ambassador.History has not taken into account what passed between these three men, but subsequent events proved that it signified disaster to one who dreamed of conquest and of power.
Said the ambassador, rising: "After what has been said, his Imperial Majesty will, I can speak authoritatively, further discredit Walmoden; for I have this day received information from a reliable source which precludes any rehabilitation of that prince.My deepest sympathies are with her Highness; his Majesty highly honored her unfortunate father.Permit me to bid you good day, for you know that the matter under my hand needs my immediate attention."When he had gone the prelate said: "My friend, our services to the kingdom are nearly over.""We are lost!" replied the chancellor."The king is happy, indeed.""I find," said the prelate, "that we have been lost for ten years.Had this Englishman proved true, it would not have mattered; had Prince Frederick arrived in time, still it would not have mattered.But above all, I was determined that Madame the duchess should not triumph.The end was written ten years ago.How invincible is fate! How incontestible its decrees!"In the lower town the students were preparing a riot, which was to take place that night.Old Stuler's was thronged.Stuler himself looked on indifferently, even listlessly.He had heard of Kopf's death.
It was half after five of the afternoon.Six miles beyond the Althofen bridge, in all thirteen miles from Bleiberg, a long, low cloud of dust hung over the king's highway.This cloud of dust was caused by the hurried, rhythmic pad-pad of human feet, the striking of hoofs and the wheels of cannon.It marked the progress of an army.To the great surprise of the Marshal, the prince and the staff, they had pushed thus far during the afternoon without seeing a sign of the enemy.Was Madame asleep?
Was she so confident her projects were unknown that she had chosen night as the time of her attack? Night, indeed, when the strength of her forces would be a matter of conjecture to the assaulted, who at the suddenness of her approach would succumb to panic! The prince was jubilant and hopeful.He had no doubt that they would arrive at the pass just as Madame was issuing forth.This meant an easy victory, for once the guns covered the narrow pass, though Madame's army were ten times as strong, its defeat was certain.A small force might hold it in check for hours.
A squadron of cuirassiers had been sent forward to reconnoiter, and as yet none had returned with alarms.The road had many windings, and was billowed frequently with hills, and ran through small forests.Only the vast blue bulk of the mountains remained ever in view.
"We shall drink at the Red Chateau to-night," said the prince, gaily, to Maurice.
