The first toll had been paid; very early in the fight had it been exacted; with the first crossing of swords a Nassau had laid down his life.
Louis bowed his head as he replaced the banner fold over the dead features, and his eyes swelled and burnt with tears.
Two of Adolphus' officers came softly forward now, gathering courage to speak.
"It was the Stadtholder slew His Excellency—they came together through all their troop—the Count fell, very valiantly wounded, at the first onslaught—his two esquires were shot by Count Aremberg also."
"We brought him here," added the other, "not to disturb your lordship with grief until the fight was over."
Louis did not answer; he stood heavily, looking at the straight outline beneath the banner and thinking of the gallant figure who had kissed him that morning before the battle, and of the Prince at Cleves and the women at Dillenburg waiting for news, to whom would come this news—this and the news from Juliers which Adolphus had never known.
Barren and small seemed his victory to Louis, and heavy and mysterious the ways of God.
He left the little chamber, closing the door gently as if he feared to disturb his brother's solemn sleep, and went out into the still garden, now flushed rosy from the setting sun.
There against the wall leant a miserable figure, Duprès the skryer.
He glanced furtively and fearfully at Louis, yet with a pleading look like a dog waiting to be called.