Boleslav felt a rush of mingled horror and joy flood his heart.
So once more the world's history had absorbed the solution of his career in its own, and he would be saved further self-doubt and suspense with regard to it. His vast schemes, the work to which he was to consecrate his life, lay shattered at his feet scarcely begun, and now ended perhaps for ever. But away with all regrets and fears. Did not the Fatherland, his Fatherland, call him?
"Thank you, Herr Landrath," he said, while he endeavoured to still his wildly beating heart. "I feel honoured at your thinking so well of me and my contingent of Schrandeners. We will prove ourselves worthy of your high opinion, and in four-and-twenty hours be in readiness."
The Landrath held out his hand. He retreated a step or two, and was in the act of repaying the Landrath in his own coin for the insult he had not long ago subjected him to.
Then he reflected. The Fatherland calls you, and what is your petty hate or love weighed in the balance? And he seized the bony hand, which its owner, offended, had already withdrawn, and shook it heartily.
Then he learnt further particulars. The evening before the King's proclamation, dated April 7, had reached Wartenstein. All night the administration had been hard at work getting the decrees ready for local heads of departments, and arranging to send out special mounted messengers to distribute them.
"Will one be sent to Schranden?" asked Boleslav.
"Certainly," was the answer.
"Then may I add a military order?"
"Yes, if you wish."