The brigade to which he belonged was brought
forward by the veteran Wurmser at a very anxious moment, and, by their
devoted courage, saved a column of Austrian infantry from being
enveloped and cut off by the French. The Hungarians charged with such
vigour and success, that they not only overthrew the body of horse
opposed to them, but they possessed themselves of a battery of
field-pieces which endeavoured to cover their retreat, and which
continued to vomit forth grape with a deadly fury till the horses' heads
of the leading squadron, under Alvinzi, reached the very muzzles of the
cannon.

The Austrians were, however, compelled finally to retreat, that same
evening, from the ground which they had so resolutely contested:--the
movement was made in fine order, and they carried off all their wounded
in safety. Upon a crowded wagon lay Julius Alvinzi; living, indeed, but
a living wreck, and his recovery despaired of. He had been wounded in
six places, and lay motionless and insensible; his servant walking by
his side in silent trouble. As the remains of his regiment marched
slowly back upon Mantua, and passed the convoy of the wounded close to
the gates, you might have heard the name of Alvinzi singled out by the
men for more deep and particular lamentation. He had been their friend,
their pride, their example; and their eyes were turned upon the wagon on
which he lay with an expression of sadness too stern and severe for
tears.

The news of this disastrous battle was communicated to Count Adony at
Salzburgh in a letter from his cousin the Count Zichy. Beatrice and her
father were sitting in his library after night-fall, each occupied with
a book, under the calm, soft light of a lamp which hung a little above
them, when this letter was brought in. He read it eagerly and rapidly to
himself; and then, with a grateful exclamation for the safety of Zichy,
and those officers with whom he was more especially acquainted, he again
read it aloud to Beatrice. It ran as follows:--

"MY DEAR AND HONOURED COUSIN,

"We are all doing our best; but, I am sorry to say, we are losing
everything except our honour. Fortune is with these Frenchmen. Of six
hundred swords, with which I marched from Salzburgh ten weeks ago, only
two hundred and twenty remain to me. We lost, in the battle of yesterday,
nearly three hundred killed and wounded. I never saw our men fight
better: the enemy opposed to us were fairly beaten at the sword's point;