“You are not wounded, Fritz Kober?” said Charles Henry, with a beating heart.
“I am unharmed; but you, my friend?”
“Only a little cut in the hand, nothing more. How many prisoners did you take?”
“Seven, Charles Henry.”
“You will be promoted! You will be an officer!”
“Not unless you are also. How many prisoners did you take?”
“I am not sure, Fritz; I think there were nine. But the captain will know.”
“We will both be promoted, the king promised it, and now I am willing to accept it.”
“But what is this to us now, my friend?” said Charles Henry; “we have found one another, and I am indifferent to all else.”
“You are right, Charles Henry; this has been a fearful, a terrible day. My knees tremble beneath me—let us rest a while.”