“Did you hear that, sir marquis? Ten thousand of my brave soldiers lie dead upon the battle-field, and as many more are severely wounded.”
“It follows then,” said the Marquis Montalembert, the French commissioner between the courts of Vienna, Petersburg, and Paris, “it follows then, that the king of Prussia has forty thousand dead and wounded, and, consequently, his little army is utterly destroyed.”
“Who knows?” said Soltikow; “the king of Prussia is accustomed to sell his defeats dearly. I should not be at all surprised if he had lost fewer soldiers than we have.” [Footnote: Soltikow’s own words—See Archenholtz, p 206.] “Well, I think he has now nothing more to lose,” said the marquis, laughing; “it rests with you to give the last coup de grace to this conquered and flying king, and forever prevent—”
The entrance of an officer interrupted him. The officer announced General von Loudon.
Soltikow arose, and advanced to the door to welcome the Austrian general. A proud smile was on his face as he gave his hand to Loudon; he did this with the air of a gracious superior who wished to be benevolent to his subordinate.
The quick, firm glance of Loudon seemed to read the haughty heart of his ally, and, no doubt for this reason, he scarcely touched Soltikow’s hand. With erect head and proud step he advanced into the middle of the room.
“I resolved to come to your excellency,” said Loudon, in a sharp, excited tone; “you have a large room, while in my hut I could scarcely find accommodation for you and your adjutants.”
“You come exactly at the right hour,” said Soltikow, with a haughty smile; “you see, we were about to hold a council of war, and consider what remains to be done.”
A dark and scornful expression was seen in Loudon’s countenance, and his eyes rested fiercely upon the smiling face of Soltikow.
“Impossible, general! you could not have held a council of war without me,” said he, angrily.