The man shook his head sadly and pointed to the window; the two officers hastened to it, but Stadinger lost no time in looking; he rushed out of the door and down the steps and across the little yard, and sank down with a piercing cry beside a litter which two soldiers were carrying, and upon which a tall, youthful form was stretched.
"Silence!" said the surgeon, who accompanied the sad little procession. "Control yourself, the prince is badly wounded."
"I see that," said the old man, huskily. "But his wound is not mortal? Tell me it's not mortal!"
He glanced up at the physician with a look of such despair, that the latter had not the heart to tell him the truth. He turned to the two officers who had followed Stadinger, and answered their questions instead.
"A bullet in the breast," he said in a whisper. "The prince desired to be brought to his own quarters, and we have been as careful as we could, but the end is nearer than I thought."
"No hope then?" asked Walldorf.
"Not the slightest."
The men were already lifting their burden to carry him into the house, when the physician motioned them to put him down.
"Wait! The prince wants to speak to his old servant, I think. A few minutes here or there doesn't matter now."
Stadinger saw and heard nothing of what was going on around him, he saw only his master. Egon appeared to be unconscious; the blonde hair was thrown back, the eyes were closed, and under the mantle with which the man had covered him was the blood-soaked uniform.