A dark shadow passed over the face of the king, but soon disappeared.
“You must now think only of yourselves. You have proved that you are brave—the rest is accident or fate. Do not despond, all will be well. Have your wounds been dressed? Have you been fed?”
“Ah, sire, no devil will dress our wounds,” groaned Lieutenant von Hubenfall.
“How,” cried the king, “have they left you here without care and assistance?”
“Yes, sire, there is no earthly hope for us.”
The king was about to answer, when several people, bearing hand-barrows, accompanied by a surgeon, entered.
“What do you wish?” said the king, angrily.
“Sire,” answered the surgeon, “we will remove the wounded, as your majesty will make your night-quarters here.”
The king threw a scornful glance upon them.
“And you suppose that I will allow this? The wounded men remain here. I will seek shelter elsewhere. But, above all things, examine the wounds of these two officers at once, and dress them.”