“No, but I see Gottlieb Kolb, and Corporal Fritz, and ... yes—here is Monsieur Maurice between two soldiers, and his Excellency the Colonel walking beside them!”
I looked up, and my heart gave a leap of gladness. He was not dead—he was not even wounded! He had been pursued and captured; but at least he was safe!
They stopped just under the corridor window. The torchlight fell full upon their faces. Monsieur Maurice looked pale and composed; perhaps just a shade haughtier than usual. My father had his drawn sword in his hand.
“Corporal Fritz,” he said, turning to a soldier near him, “conduct the prisoner to his room, and post two sentries at his door, and one under his windows.” Then turning to Monsieur Maurice, “I thank God, Sir,” he said gravely, “that you have not paid for your imprudence with your life. I have the honour to wish you good night.”
Monsieur Maurice ceremoniously took off his hat.
“Good night, Colonel Bernhard,” he said. “I beg you, however, to remember that I had withdrawn my parole.”
“I remember it, Monsieur Maurice,” replied my father, drawing himself up, and returning the salutation.
Monsieur Maurice then crossed the courtyard with his guards, and entered the Château by the door leading to the state apartments. My father, after standing for a moment as if lost in thought, turned away and went over to the guard-house.
The soldiers then dispersed, or gathered into little knots of twos and threes, and talked in low voices of the events of the night.
“Accomplices!” said one, just close against the window where Bertha and I still lingered. “Liebe Mutter! I'll take my oath he had one! Why, it was I who first caught sight of the prisoner gliding through the trees—I saw him as plainly as I see you now—I covered him with my musket—I wouldn't have given a copper pfennig for his life, when paff! at the very moment I pulled the trigger, out steps a fellow from behind my shoulder, knocks up my musket, and disappears like a flash of lightning—Heaven only knows where, for I never laid eyes on him again!”