“We have hit the mark exactly,” whispered Fritz Kober; he had succeeded with his friend in forcing his way into the little alley which separated the two houses. “We have now reached the head-quarters of the generals. Look! there is an Austrian sentinel with his bear’s cap. Both the Austrian and Russian generals are here.”
“Let us watch the Russians a little through the window,” said Charles Henry, slipping forward.
They reached the corner, and were hidden by the trunk of a tree which overshadowed the huts. Suddenly they heard the word of command, and there was a general movement among the files of soldiers assembled about the square. The officers placed themselves in rank, the soldiers presented arms; for, at this moment, the Austrian General Loudon, surrounded by his staff, stepped from one of the small houses into the square. The Cossacks, who were crouched down on the earth before the door, raised themselves, and also presented arms.
While Loudon stood waiting, the two Prussian grenadiers slipped slyly to the other hut.
“Let us go behind,” whispered Charles Henry. “There are no sentinels there, and perhaps we may find a door, and get into the house.”
Behind the hut was a little garden whose thick shrubs and bushes gave complete concealment to the two grenadiers. Noiselessly they sprang over the little fence, and made a reconnoissance of the terrain—unseen, unnoticed, they drew near the house. As they stepped from behind the bushes, Fritz Kober seized his friend’s arm, and with difficulty suppressed a cry of joy.
The scene which was presented to them was well calculated to rejoice the hearts of brave soldiers. They had reached the goal, and might now hope to fulfil the wishes of their king. The quarters of the Russian general were plainly exposed to them. In this great room, which was evidently the ball-room of the village, at a long oak-table, in the middle of the room, sat General Soltikow, and around him sat and stood the generals and officers. At the door, half a dozen Cossacks were crouching, staring sleepily on the ground. The room was brilliantly illuminated with wax-lights, and gave the two grenadiers an opportunity of seeing it in every part. Fate appeared to favor them in every way, and gave them an opportunity to hear as well as see. The window on the garden was opened to give entrance to the cool night air, and near it there was a thick branch of a tree in which a man could conceal himself.
“Look there,” said Charles Henry, “I will hide in that tree. We will make our observations from different stand-points. Perhaps one of us may see what escapes the other. Let us attend closely, that we may tell all to our king.”
No man in this room guessed that in the silent little garden four flashing eyes were observing all that passed.
At the table sat the Russian commander-in-chief, surrounded by his generals and officers. Before him lay letters, maps, and plans, at which he gazed from time to time, while he dictated an account of the battle to the officer sitting near him, Soltikow was preparing a dispatch for the Empress Elizabeth. A few steps farther off, in stiff military bearing, stood the officers who were giving in their reports, and whose statements brought a dark cloud to the brow of the victorious commander. Turning with a hasty movement of the head to the small man with the gold-embroidered uniform and the stiffly-frizzed wig, he said—