The battle was over. The army, including Klapka's division, had retired beyond the river, though we still held possession of the bridges. I had just returned from my dangerous ride, and the worthy Sándor had given me up for lost.
I was dead tired, and wrapping myself up cosily, lay down, expecting to fall asleep instantly.
In this I was wrong, for though my eyes closed, I could not make my brain rest.
I thought of my chivalrous brother lying wrapped in his country's flag in the citadel at Buda; I thought, too, of the gallant Rakoczy at Pesth, and wished the old regiment had been in the field that day; but, most of all, my mind dwelt upon the Austrian leader with whom I had been in deadly conflict.
The hussars had retreated too quickly for me to find out if I had killed him.
Somehow I hoped the poor fellow was not dead; though, had the case been reversed, I suppose he would not have wasted a thought on me.
From Von Theyer my mind naturally drifted to the beautiful Theresa, and I wondered how she had borne the news of her bereavement.
At least it would be some comfort when I could restore the baron's memento, and tell how we had buried him in the quiet little churchyard.
My heart grew sadder and sadder as I lingered over the details of this cruel war, which the day's fighting conclusively showed we could not carry to a successful issue.
It was not that a single defeat caused me to despair, but I saw clearly that we had thrown away our chance of victory.