Part 60 (1/2)

”But is there shooting with it all?” asked Stadinger, with such anxious mien that the two officers laughed aloud.

”Yes, shots are being exchanged, too,” confirmed Waldorf. ”You seem to have great fear of them, yet you are at a safe distance.”

”I?” The old man drew himself up, deeply offended.

”I wish I could be in the midst of it also.”

”Perhaps to protect your much loved Highness. The Prince would decline that. You would hold on to his coat tails and cry continually, 'Take care, Your Highness, there comes a ball.' That would look fine!”

”Herr Lieutenant,” said the old man, so seriously that the gay tease was silenced, ”you should not do that to an old hunter who has often climbed after the chamois, and has fired his gun when he had scarcely a foot's breadth of ground to stand on; I feel so depressed and anxious to-day. I wish the day would end.”

”Well, it was not meant so seriously,” said Eugene, soothingly. ”We believe you, Stadinger; you do not look like a man who is afraid. But you must not speak to us about your depressing presentiments. One does not think of them after one has stood so many times in the shower of bullets. When we are happily at home again, I will come to my sister at Ostwalden, and we will then be good neighbors with Rodeck. The Prince loves his old forest nook so well. And now abandon your anxiety, for there he comes already.”

Rapid steps were heard on the stairs outside; the old man sighed with relief. But it was only Egon's attendant who appeared in the open door.

”Well, has His Highness arrived?” asked Waldorf; but Stadinger did not allow the man time to answer. He had cast one glance at his face--only a single one--then suddenly grasped his hand with a convulsive clutch.

”What is it? Where--where is my master?”

The man shook his head sadly and pointed silently to the window, to which both officers hastened with fear and dread. But Stadinger lost no time. He dashed out down the stairs, into the little garden which lay before the house, and with a loud, bitter cry sank upon his knees at the side of a stretcher, upon which there lay a slender, youthful figure.

”Quietly,” said the physician who had accompanied the sad group.

”Control yourself--the Prince is seriously wounded.”

”I see it,” gasped the faithful old servant; ”but not fatally--oh, say not fatally. Only tell me that, Herr Doctor!”

He looked up to the surgeon with such despairing entreaty that the latter had not courage to tell him the truth, but turned to the two officers who now hastened near and overwhelmed him with low, anxious questioning.

”A ball in the breast,” he explained, in the same tone. ”The Prince begged to be brought to his quarters, and we have used all possible care in the moving; but it will bring the end more quickly than I thought.”

”Fatal?” asked Waldorf.

”Beyond a doubt.”

The surgeon gave the bearers who prepared to take their charge into the house, a sign to desist.

”Stop, the Prince seems to have something to say to his old servant, and there are no moments to lose.”

Stadinger saw and heard nothing of what happened at his side. He looked only upon his master.

Egon seemed to be unconscious. The light hair had become disheveled, the eyes were closed, and beneath the cloak with which he had been covered, and which had partly fallen open, the blood-stained uniform could be seen.

”Your Highness,” besought Stadinger, softly, according to the doctor's warning, but with heartbreaking accents, ”only look at me! Speak to me!

It is I--Stadinger.”

The well-known voice found its way to the ear of the desperately wounded man. Slowly his eyes opened, and a slight smile flitted over his features as he recognized the old man who knelt at his side.

”My old Waldgeist,” he whispered, ”did you have to come--to see this?”