"Oh, that is nothing, father; nothing whatever to me! But how is he disfigured?"
"Well, my dear, he has lost his left arm, at the elbow."
Thirza gave a little cry of grief and pity.
"That is sad, father; but surely it is no disfigurement, any more than that sabre scar on his face. 'Tis an honour, to a brave soldier, to have lost a limb in battle. Still, I am glad that it is his left arm; though, had it been his right and both his legs, it would have made no difference in my love for him."
"Well, I am very glad, Thirza, that your love has not been tested so severely; as I confess that, for my part, I would much prefer having a son-in-law who was able to walk about, and who would not have to be carried to the altar. Here is a letter to you from him--that is to say, which has been written at his dictation, for of course the surgeons insist on his lying perfectly quiet, at present."
Thirza tore it open, and ran through its contents.
"It is just as you say, father. He makes very light of it, and writes as if it were a mere nothing."
She handed the letter to her mother, and then turned to the count.
"Is there anything we can do, father?"
"Nothing whatever. With such a wound as that, he will have to lie perfectly still for some time. You may be sure that, as one of Frederick's personal staff, he will have every attention possible; and were we all in the town, we could do nothing. As soon as he is fit to be moved, it will be different; but we shall have plenty of time to talk over matters before that.