"The General sends word to be cautious--betrayal is planned--the fortress will be blown up as soon as its garrison has moved off. Here is the dispatch."
He tore a paper from his breast and gave it to Falkenried. The officers had become violently excited at the awful news, and pressed around their chief as if expecting to hear from him confirmation of the incredible report. But they had a strange sight before them.
The General, whose iron composure they all knew--who never lost control of himself--had turned deathly pale, and stared at the speaker as if a spirit had risen before him from the ground, while he held the paper unopened in his hand.
"Herr General--the dispatch!"
One of the adjutants who understood the proceedings as little as the others, gently reminded him; but it was enough to bring Falkenried back to consciousness. He tore the dispatch open and glanced it over, and was now again the soldier who knew nothing but his duty.
With full, firm voice he gave his orders. The officers galloped right and left; signals and commands resounded in all directions, and in a few moments the last detachment of soldiers came to a standstill. Upon the fortress sounded the signal of alarm. Neither friend nor foe knew what it meant. Did it not appear as if the so recently conquered place was to be vacated at once? But the orders were executed with the usual alacrity and dispatch; the movements were completed with perfect composure, in spite of the haste, and the troops turned back into the town.
Falkenried was still in the open square, giving orders, receiving reports, watching and guiding everything with his eyes. But still he found a moment's time to turn to his son, to whom he had not as yet given any sign of recognition.
"You are bleeding--let it be bandaged."
Hartmut shook his head hastily.
"Later--I must first see the retreat--the rescue."