It was in the early morning on the day when the battle of Hehnsdorff was fought, and Max's regiment, with two others of the line, were sent to occupy the village on the right bank of the river. For hours they defended it with the tenacity of despair. At last, the general, seeing that it was hopeless to continue to hold it, despatched an aide with an order to the officer in command to abandon it and to fall back upon a wood some three-quarters of a mile or so to the rear. The aide had scarcely entered the main street of the little hamlet, when a shell burst in the road, killing his horse and tearing a great gaping wound in the young fellow's side. Seeing what had happened, Max, who, with Bertram and several others, was in a cottage close at hand, ran to his assistance. It was a shocking spectacle they had before them, but, despite the blood, Max recognised the man. Picking him up as tenderly as possible, he bore him to the cottage where the commander was located.
The poor fellow had just strength enough left to say, "The general bids you retire, and take up your position in the wood behind the church," when his head fell forward and he fainted. A moment later the order was given, the village was vacated, and the troops were slowly and sullenly retiring in the direction indicated. The aide-de-camp still lay where they had placed him, his life-blood slowly ebbing from him and forming a pool by his side.
"He's a man I've known all my life," said Max hoarsely to Bertram. "I can't leave him here. Between us we'll carry him to the rear, though I fear the surgeons can do nothing for him."
Thus encumbered they set off across the open ground, now being ploughed by the shells of the enemy. How it was they were not hit it is impossible to say, yet, incredible as it may appear, they reached the wood in safety. On the further side the surgeons were at work, and thither they bore the dying man. But officer or no officer, it was necessary that he should wait his turn, and seeing this, Max placed him upon the ground and endeavoured to make him as comfortable as possible. That his case was hopeless there could be no sort of doubt. Indeed, he was little more than a dead man as it was. Rising to his feet, for he had been kneeling beside the other, Max was about to return to where his comrades had taken up their position, when the wounded man opened his eyes and looked up at him. Max saw that he was trying to speak, and he accordingly knelt down beside him, for he saw that the other had recognised him.
"Your Majesty," he whispered. Then after a pause he added, "Thank God you are found at last!"
"Hush! hush!" Max replied. "I am no king, only a Pannonian soldier!"
"You are both," gasped the dying man. "They have searched everywhere for you. This must be told."
"No, no!" answered Max. "I can never consent."
But the other was not to be denied. Putting forth all the strength that remained in him, he raised himself and called one of the doctors by name.
The surgeon, who happened to be disengaged at the moment, hastened towards him. Before he could reach him, however, the poor fellow had fallen upon the ground, and was dead. With a cold sweat upon his forehead, such as the fear of battle had never been able to produce, Max staggered to his feet.