“All is indeed well,” with a gesture toward the prisoners.
“I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket,” said Maurice. “Will you help me to a nip, Colonel?”
“Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in cords. Corporal,” to a trooper, “relieve their hands.”
The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold. Maurice produced his flask.
“I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle,” he said, as he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. “I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself.” He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.
“Drink away, my son,” said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle; “there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!”
The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.
When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny, selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings, Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled, no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly, they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences of her Highness.
It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.
“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel, dismounting, “permit me, in the name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible, but not probable. There are twenty fresh men and horses in the stables. Come, be reasonable. It will be pleasanter on both sides.”