He was so near that Warner could see the grey uniform in detail—the ulanka piped with dark crimson, shoulder straps bearing the number 2, collar with the eagle-button insignia of the Guard. A grey helmet-slip covered the mortar board and leather body of the schapska; boots and belt were of russet leather.
Another Uhlan rode up, showing the star of an oberleutnant on the pattes-d'épaules.
Four others followed, picking their way among the vines, cautiously yet leisurely. At the stirrups of the oberleutnant strode a man on foot—a big, shambling, bald-headed man wearing a smock and carrying a felt hat in his huge hand. And when he turned to wipe his hairless face on his sleeve, Asticot clutched Warner's arm convulsively.
The man was Wildresse.
The officer of Uhlans sat very straight in his saddle, his field glasses sometimes focussed on the burning town, sometimes sweeping the landscape to the north and west, sometimes deliberately studying the valley below.
Presently he lowered his glasses and turned partly around to look down at Wildresse, who was standing among the vines by his stirrup.
"Wohin führt diese Weg?" he demanded with a nod toward the quarry road below.
"Nach Drieux, Excellenz!"
"Zeigen Sie mir die Richtung nach Dreslin mit der Hand!"
Wildresse raised his arm and pointed, tracing the quarry road north and west.