owed at a short distance, and, almost ere one was aware
of it, the whole regiment had poured down into the hollow.

This was the Third Westphalian regiment. It had passed so near the
group of dragoon officers that Prince Louis could have distinguished
every figure, every face. The poor fellows had been on their feet
fourteen hours, marching steadily under the scorching August sun. A
thick gray crust of dust, which perspiration had converted into an ugly
mask, covered their fresh young faces. The uniforms bore marks of the
clay in the various camping grounds where they had halted for a short
rest. But nothing now revealed the mortal weariness of the band of
heroes. Their eyes, reddened by the heat, blazed with the enthusiasm
for battle, their parched throats once more gained power to shout
"Hurrah!" with the full strength of their voices; their feet, which but
a few minutes ago had dragged along the dusty highway with painful
effort, now moved lightly and elastically, it seemed as though the
whole regiment had been invigorated by some stimulating drink as it
inarched into the line of fire.

The batteries roared above their heads at the French with twofold zeal,
"Hurrah, Hurrah!" rose from a thousand throats in the bottom of the
ravine, one could hear the roll of the drums sounding the march, and
loud shouts and cries. Prince Louis watched the assailants, whose
foremost ranks were already climbing the hill on the opposite side.

"Poor fellows!" he thought, "there they go to death as joyously as if
it were a kirmess dance. They will shout hurrah till they are hoarse
or a bullet silences them. Of what are they thinking? Probably of
nothing. A blind impulse to conquer urges them on. And what does
victory mean to each individual? What advantage will it be to him?
How will it benefit his earthly fate, if he escapes death on the
battlefield? The renown of the German name? For me perhaps it has a
value. Yet it is not absolutely certain. My uniform will possibly
derive a prouder lustre; but I wear it so seldom! If I go to Japan
next year, perhaps the Mikado will receive me with more distinction
than if I belonged to a conquered nation. Yet whether we mow down the
French or they us, I think I shall always receive the same treatment at
the Paris Jockey Club and the Nice Cercle de la Mediterranee. So much
for me. But these obscure people below--what do they care about
military fame and the power of a victoriou