"Allah has willed it," said he, "and may his name be praised! General, thou hast prevailed, and I am thy prisoner. I ask but one favor of thee. Give me no Greek or Rascian for my master; let me serve a German."
The elector smilingly raised him, and explained that Christians did not enslave their prisoners of war. "You have defended yourself heroically," added he, "and we honor a brave enemy. The Emperor of Germany alone is the arbiter of your fate."
"Allah will decide what that fate is to be," was the pious response of the Mussulman.
The Elector of Bavaria has won his wager; but what cares a victorious hero for ducats or dastards like the Duke of Mantua?
"Where is Eugene?" was his first inquiry. And, not seeing him among his followers, he darted out of the castle in search of his friend.
The question passed from man to man, until one was found at last to answer it. The prince was in the hands of the imperial surgeons, who were vainly endeavoring to extract the ball.
The elector dragged one of them aside. "Is he dangerously wounded?" asked he, anxiously.
"He may not die of the wound," was the surgeon's reply; "but it will be tedious and very painful."
"He will live!" cried Max, wiping away a tear, and hastening to the litter whereon Eugene was lying.
He bent over him, and gently touched his forehead.