to study that peculiar and
unstable organ. The possibility of the prince's arriving in Bleiberg
before her in no way disturbed her. Whenever her attack was made,
failure would not attend it. She broke camp at two o'clock and took the
road leisurely toward Bleiberg.

Thus, the two armies faced each other comparatively in the open. A
battle hung in the air.

The king's forces came to an abrupt halt. Orderlies dashed to and fro.
The artillery came rumbling and creaking to the front, wheeled, the guns
unlimbered and ranged so as to enfilade the road. The infantry deployed
to right and left while the cavalry swung into position on the flanks.
All this was accomplished with the equanimity of dress parade. Maurice
could not control his admiration. Madame, he thought, might win her
crown, but at a pretty cost.

The Marshal and the staff posted themselves on the right breast of the
hill, from whence, by the aid of binoculars, they could see the enemy.
From time to time General Kronau nervously smoothed his beard, formed
his lips into words, but did not utter them, and glanced slyly from
the corner of his eye at the Marshal, who was intent on the enemy's
approach. Maurice was trying with naked eye to pierce the forest and the
rolling ground beyond, and waiting for the roar of the guns.

Orders had been issued for the gunners to get the range and commence
firing; but as the gunners seemed over long in getting down to work,
Maurice gazed around impatiently. The blood rushed into his heart. For
this is what he saw: the infantry leaning indolently on their guns,
their officers snipping the grasses with their swords; the cuirassiers
hidden in the bulk of the native cavalry; artillerymen seated carelessly
on the caissons, and the gunners smoking and leaning against the guns.
All action was gone, as if by magic; nothing but a strange tableau
remained! Moreover, a troop of native cavalry, which, for no apparent
reason, had not joined the main body, had closed in on the general
staff. Appalled by a sudden thought, Maurice touched the prince, who
lowered his glasses and turned his head. Bewilderment widened his eyes,
and the flush on his cheeks died away. He, too, saw.

"Devil's name!" the Marshal burst forth, "why don't the blockheads
shoot? The enemy--" He stopped, his chin fell, for, as he turned, a
single glance explained all to him. The red on his face changed into
a sickly purple, and the glasses slipped from his hands and broke