r's was thronged. Stuler himself looked on
indifferently, even listlessly. He had heard of Kopf's death.

It was half after five of the afternoon. Six miles beyond the Althofen
bridge, in all thirteen miles from Bleiberg, a long, low cloud of dust
hung over the king's highway. This cloud of dust was caused by the
hurried, rhythmic pad-pad of human feet, the striking of hoofs and
the wheels of cannon. It marked the progress of an army. To the great
surprise of the Marshal, the prince and the staff, they had pushed thus
far during the afternoon without seeing a sign of the enemy. Was Madame
asleep? Was she so confident her projects were unknown that she had
chosen night as the time of her attack? Night, indeed, when the strength
of her forces would be a matter of conjecture to the assaulted, who at
the suddenness of her approach would succumb to panic! The prince was
jubilant and hopeful. He had no doubt that they would arrive at the pass
just as Madame was issuing forth. This meant an easy victory, for once
the guns covered the narrow pass, though Madame's army were ten times as
strong, its defeat was certain. A small force might hold it in check for
hours.

A squadron of cuirassiers had been sent forward to reconnoiter, and as
yet none had returned with alarms. The road had many windings, and was
billowed frequently with hills, and ran through small forests. Only the
vast blue bulk of the mountains remained ever in view.

"We shall drink at the Red Chateau to-night," said the prince, gaily, to
Maurice.

"That we shall," replied Maurice; "and the best in the cellars."

Only the Marshal said nothing; he knew what war was. In his youth he had
served in Transylvania, and he was not minded to laugh and jest. Then,
too, there was injustice on both sides. Poor devil! as his thoughts
recurred to the king. Touched for the moment by the wings of ambition,
which is at best a white vulture, he had usurped another's throne, and
to this end! But he was less answerable than the archbishop, who had
urged him.

Occasionally he glanced back at the native troops, the foot, the horse,
the artillery, and scowled. From these his glance wandered to the cold,
impassive face of General Kronau, who rode at his side, and he rubbed
his nose. Kronau had been a favorite of Albrecht's... How would he act?
In truth, the Marshal's thoughts were not altogether pleasant. Some of
these men surrounding him, exchanging persiflage, might never witness