His companion turned sternly to the soldiers.
“Dismount my friend,” he said. “He is exceedingly fatigued.”
Two of the men ran forward to the horse’s head. As they grasped the bridle the rider sank fainting from the saddle.
“Poor During!” exclaimed his companion. “He is not used to these hardships.”
He looked with some tenderness at the slack figure of the young man as the soldiers carried him to the guardroom, and bade them treat him with all care and respect.
In the meanwhile a sergeant had been sent to awaken the Governor, who, thinking it must be some person of importance or some imperative message, bade the stranger to his presence.
General Dücker’s house was near the gates, and it was only a short time after his appearance at the city walls that the messenger from Demotica was admitted to the bed-chamber of the Governor.
That gentleman, startled by this sudden rousing from his sleep, stood in a dressing-gown by the side of his bed; a valet was lighting the candles that stood on mantleshelf and bureau.
The stranger entered, making the room look small. He brought with him the cold outer air; wet, dirty snow was on his boots that were flecked with mud to the knees; he flung back his heavy blue mantle and showed his gray coat, laced with gold which was like that of a German officer.
“You are from Turkey, sire?” asked the General, speaking with some sternness as he observed the visitor did not remove his braided hat.