"To-morrow? Next day? Who knows?" and he led Hans to a cold bare room, when, locking the door, he left him.
"What matter?" muttered Hans. "I am old, and the French will never read the letter."
Very likely he would be shot, and soon. In Magdeburg they had shot down Prussians by dozens. The day he had stopped at the farmhouse he had heard how they had chained a father and son together, marched them through the town and shot them.
"It is war," said Hans; "I took my chances. The good Mademoiselle Clara will take good care of my Bettina."
The next day came, and the next; a week passed and nothing happened.
The truth was, the victory at Eylau was uncertain. Napoleon was checked and all things were waiting. There was hope of peace, and an order came to march all prisoners to another city.
It was the good God, Hans believed, who directed his eye to a field as he was marched to his new prison, a castle the French then were using. The field itself was white and crusted with snow, but Hans' eye noted a large spot where the whiteness had been melted and then had frozen, as if water had flowed upon it. It was near spring now and there were thaws, then more snow, and then fresh melting and freezing.
The spot Hans noticed had nothing to do with this. It was as if a large stream of water had a habit of pouring out there. Yes, he was right, for he saw that the snow was broken and frozen towards a ditch on the boundary of the field.
"It must be a sewer," said Hans, and thought no more about it.
Life in the castle was easy and pleasant. The place was so strong there was no danger of escape, so the commander, being easy-going, permitted the prisoners much liberty, allowing them to walk about for air in the paved courtyard.