“The loss has been very great indeed,” said the other. “The peculiar uniform of your officers, so distinct from their men, has much exposed them.”
“They met their fate honorably, at least, sir; they wore the colors of their Emperor.”
“Very true, General,” replied the other, “and I will own to you our surprise at the fact that there have been no desertions, except from the ranks. The popular impression was, that many of the Hungarians would have joined the Italian cause. It was even said whole regiments would have gone over.”
“It was a base calumny upon a faithful people and a brave soldiery,” said the other. “I will not say that such a falsehood may not have blinded their eyes against their truth in their national struggle,—the love of country might easily have been used to a base and treacherous purpose,—but here, in this conflict, not a man will desert the cause of the Emperor!” The emotion in which he spoke these words was such that he was obliged to turn away his face to conceal it.
“Your words have found an illustration amongst the number of our wounded prisoners, General,” said the other—“a young fellow who, it was said, broke his arrest to join the struggle at Goito, but whose name or rank we never could find out, for, before being taken, he had torn every mark of his grade from cuff and collar!”
“You know his regiment, perhaps?”
“It is said to be Prince Paul of Würtemberg's.”
“What is he like,—what may be his age?” asked the General, hastily.
“To pronounce from appearance, he is a mere boy,—brown-haired and blue-eyed, and wears no moustache.”
“Where is he, sir?” asked the old man, with a suppressed emotion.