I took a physician with me, and we hurried past the wounded calling for help.
We came to a hill; there he lay. I could hardly get my breath as I stood there before him, but at last I cried,—
"Father!"
"Father!" screamed he. "Away! leave me!"
He stared at me with glassy eyes. He tore up the grass, and digging out the earth, he buried his face in the fresh mould, trying to inhale that peculiar odor which had always refreshed him; but he shook his head, appearing unable to perceive the earthy smell.
He now turned round and stared at me.
The physician made preparations to dress his wounds, from several of which the blood was flowing. He thrust the physician away with violence.
"I will not be bound! Off with the whole of you!"
I kneeled down, and said that he had not been fighting against his son; that Roland had, been missing for three months, and had evidently been taken prisoner.
"A prisoner! woe! woe! woe!" he shrieked. "A prisoner! Oh, she is to blame—she! she! I did not want to! I had to—she wanted to ride on horseback—she sits splendidly—to play the amazon."