“Yes; this wound in my head”—
“You have no wound in your head.”
“But I have, I tell you. It makes me suffer terribly.”
“The wound is in your leg. It is broken, but the surgeons have set it, and I am taking you to Zittau. There you can be treated, and I shall return to the regiment.”
“Yes; it is in my leg; I know it now. Did I lose my sword?”
“No; you were holding it tightly when I found you.”
“So you came to look after me?”
“Certainly. Everything was over, and what was left of the Prussians in full retreat before ten o’clock.”
“Are the Prussians really beaten?”
“As much as they ever are. Frederick will be up and at us again in a month as if he had never been beaten at all. But he has lost Marshal Keith. The marshal’s body was found among a heap of slain, watched by a foot-soldier, an Englishman, who had it carried into the church. And there General Lacy recognized the grand old marshal. General Lacy wept at the sight. The marshal will be buried to-morrow with full military honours, as if he were an Austrian marshal, General Lacy acting as chief mourner. Frederick has no more Keiths among his generals.”