The charcoal sank out beyond recovery; a sudden cold blast of wind blew through the upper part of the window that had been smashed by an Austrian shell. M. de Biron rose with a shudder.
“It is warmer in the guardroom,” he declared.
Luc de Clapiers spoke to the Lieutenant.
“Will you come with me to the church?”
The young man answered readily. “Certainly, Monsieur.”
The Duke put his hand on the shoulder of the other captain.
“I do believe”—he smiled—“that Luc is on the same quest of glory.”
CHAPTER II
THE CHAPEL OF ST. WENCESLAS
The two young men left the palace and proceeded rapidly, by reason of the intense cold, through the ways, covered and uncovered, that led from the royal residence to the other buildings that, ringed by half-destroyed fortifications, formed the Hradcany. The night was moonless, and heavy clouds concealed the stars; lanterns placed at irregular intervals alone lit the way, but Luc de Clapiers guided his companion accurately enough to the entrance of the huge, soaring, unfinished, and yet triumphant cathedral of St. Vitus.
“You have been here before?” he asked, as they stepped into the black hollow of the porch. Though they were of the same regiment, the two had never been intimate.