sure that it would only be a question of time before the guns
would be retaken from him, and realising that if they were left in their
present position, they would in all human probability be turned upon the
brigade now entering by the main gate, he and his men between them
dragged them from the spot to a dark alley on the other side of the
square, where it was unlikely they would be found in time to work
further mischief. They had scarcely done this before they, in their
turn, were compelled to beat a retreat before a regiment that was coming
towards them at the double. Nothing was left, therefore, but for them to
ascend the steps leading to the old church to which I have before
referred. Seeing them, the enemy poured a volley into the portico of the
sacred building, and then prepared to drive them out with the bayonet.
Here, however, the small band that was left had somewhat of an
advantage. Being in the dark themselves, and having what light there was
in front of them, they could see their foes, who could not see them.
Wearied, however, as they were, it was impossible that they could hold
out for long. The pile of the dead that lay at the foot of the steps
when dawn broke was a proof, if any were wanted, of the gallantry with
which they fought. It was not long before a force was despatched to
their assistance, and the enemy retired, having lost thirty men in that
short encounter.

"Who are you, and how do you come to be here?" inquired the officer of
the relieving force, as he ascended the steps. Max informed him, but had
scarcely sufficient strength left to articulate the words. When he had
finished he fell back against the wall, knowing that he was wounded, and
believing it to be to the death. The officer--it was Fritz von
Mulhaus--caught him in his arms before he could touch the ground, while
Bertram, who was unwounded, hastened to his side. Between them they laid
him gently down.

"Let me lie so," said Max; "I think it is all over with me now. Can you
tell me if the city is ours?"

"There is not the least doubt about it, I should say," Mulhaus replied.
"And if it is, we owe it to you."

"And to the brave fellows who accompanied me," answered Max, faintly. "I
could have done nothing without them. And now you must not stay with me.
I shall be quite comfortable here."

But Mulhaus would not be sent away. Whatever the circumstances might be,
he would not leave him until he had seen him conveyed to a house near