The forester asked news of the fight at Saalfield. He had heard that there had been a skirmish, he said.
"Ach Gott," cried the soldiers, "have you not heard?"
Then the listening ears were shocked with the news of the defeat and death of Prince Louis Ferdinand, he who was the darling of the army, the Alcibiades of Prussia, one of the bravest princes who ever took up arms against an enemy.
One thousand Saxons under this Prince had been surrounded in a narrow valley by thirty thousand of the enemy. The Saxons had fought bravely, but in vain. The horse of Prince Louis Ferdinand, leaping a ditch, became entangled in a high hedge and was spied by a French hussar.
"Surrender, or you are a dead man!" he cried, and, for answer, Prince Louis Ferdinand cut at him with a sabre.
The Frenchman retorted with a sword thrust and made an end of the most gallant Prince in Germany.
Bettina, listening, and not always entirely understanding, grew cold with horror. She could see the flashing of the swords, and, oh, her father, her dear father was at Jena, and while the talk went on the cannon roared louder and louder.
"The enemy captured thirty guns," said a red-faced soldier gloomily.
"There were bad omens before the war," announced the forester pompously. His wife, he told them, had been in Berlin and had seen the statue of Bellona, goddess of war, fall from the roof of the Arsenal on the very day when the King reviewed his army.
"And when they had picked her up," continued the forester, "her right arm was entirely shattered!"