She hurried away to the baron's room. Anton remained behind, lost in sad thoughts. Meanwhile the bright sunshine streamed down on the court-yard, the men left the guard-room and stood on the threshold; even the women made their way out of their dark retreat, and had to be scolded back again.
"Who knows whether they have not overlooked the castle?" said one; "or if they have courage to attack us?" suggested another; while a sagacious tailor proved, by a clever résumé of the different reports received, that all the Polish frocks were by this time far beyond Rosmin. Yet, eagerly as each asserted that the danger must now be over, all listened anxiously to the step of the sentinels, and looked constantly to the tower, to see if any signal were given thence. Even Anton found the suspense unbearable, and at length he too betook himself to the tower. Here the whole staff was assembled. The blind baron sat in his arm-chair, behind him stood Lenore's tall figure shading his eyes with her parasol; four riflemen sat in the broad embrasures; and Fink, perched on the wall, hung down his legs into space, and puffed the blue clouds of a cigar into the wind.
"Nothing to be seen?" asked Anton.
"Nothing," replied Fink, "except a drunken band of our villagers, who are moving off on the Tarow road." He pointed to a dark mass just vanishing into the wood. "It is very well that we have got rid of the rabble. They are afraid of the gray-jackets, and are off to plunder elsewhere. Every hour's delay is a gain, since we reckon that at best there is no help to be looked for till to-morrow. Now those gentlemen behind the wood are not interesting enough to wish for a visit of twenty-four hours from them. This is a grand spot, Baron Rothsattel," continued Fink. "Certainly there's not much to be seen—some fir woods, your fields, and plenty of sand; but it is a glorious station to defend, because it is so bare all round the castle—without tree or bank. Your sentimentalists, indeed, might pronounce it an uninteresting view. But what I consider splendid is this: with the exception of the nearest barn, which is about three hundred yards off in a straight line, there is no shelter better than that of a molehill for one of the enemy's skirmishers. Far as a rifle-ball can range, we are monarchs of the plain below; only there is a thicket in the way yonder—a plantation, I believe, of Fräulein Lenore's."
"I acknowledge myself guilty," said Lenore.
"Very well," replied Fink, carelessly; "then you shall pay the cost if we are hit. Half a dozen riflemen might lurk safely there."
"It is Lenore's favorite spot," said the baron, apologetically; "she has a grass-plot there; it is the only place outside the wall where she can sit in the open air."
"Indeed!" said Fink; "that's a different thing;" and, looking round for Lenore, he saw she had disappeared. The next moment the yard gate opened, and Lenore, followed by a few laborers, hurried to the plantation.
"What are you going to do?" cried Fink from his height.
Lenore signified by a gesture that she was going to have the trees removed; and, seizing a young fir, she exerted all her strength to uproot it. The men followed her example. In a few moments the young plantation was done away with. Then Lenore herself caught up a spade, and began to level the grassy mound.