It had been a short, painless struggle--almost a falling asleep. Stadinger had not moved--had not uttered a sound, for he knew it would hurt his young master, whom he had borne in his arms as a child, and who now drew his last breath in those arms. But, when all was over, the composure of the old man gave way. He threw himself despairingly upon the body and wept like a child.
CHAPTER LVIII.
Over on the other side of the mountain passes also the winter sun shone clear and bright upon the new achievements which the victorious German troops had acquired.
The negotiations with the commander of R---- had been brought to an end, and the fortress had surrendered. The captive garrison moved out, while a portion of the victors had already marched in.
General Falkenried stood in the main square of the lower town with his staff, about to move also into the fortress. The helmets and arms of the troops who were on their way into the citadel glittered in the sunshine. Falkenried issued various orders, then took his stand at the head of his staff and gave the signal to march.
But now there came a horseman in furious haste over the main road; the noble animal he rode was covered with sweat and foam, and his sides bled from the cruel spurs which had hurried him on and on when his strength threatened to desert him. The face also of the rider was disfigured by the blood trickling from beneath the cloth that had been wound around the forehead.
He came flying, as if driven by a tornado, and everything fled from before him until he reached the open square, dashed through the midst of the officers straight up to the General. A few steps from the end of the journey the strength of the noble horse failed, he broke down completely; but at the same moment the rider sprang from the saddle and hastened toward the commander.
"From the Commanding General."
Falkenried started at the first word. He had not recognized the blood-covered face; he only saw that the man who dashed up as if for life or death must bring an important message. But at the sound of that voice, an idea of the truth flashed upon him.
Hartmut swayed and laid his hand for a moment on his brow; it seemed as if he were about to break down, too, like his horse. But he recovered with an effort.