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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Any time will do," he said. "Ah, he opens his eyes." The prisoner's eyes rolled wildly about. That frowning face above him... was it a vision? Who was it? What was he doing here? "Who put you up to this?" demanded Maurice. "You are choking me!" "Who, I say?" "Beauvais." Scharfenstein and von Mitter looked at each other comprehensively. "Who is this Beauvais? Speak!"
I'm going to wade out into the water," von Mitter added, staggering to his feet. "You'll never get off your boot," said Maurice. "I'll cut it off," was the reply, "I shall faint if I do not cool off the leg. The ball is somewhere in the calf." And he waded out into the water until it reached above his knees. Thus he stood for a moment, then returned to the maid, who, on opening her eyes, screamed.
"A thousand devils!" exclaimed the Captain at the sight of this unexpected tableau. He sprang up, toppling over his chair. "What's this? Von Mitter? Blood? Have those damned students " "A brush on the lake road," interrupted Sharfenstein, breathlessly. "Help him over to a chair, Monsieur Carewe. That's it." "Have you a knife, Captain?" asked Maurice.
Then he added whimsically: "I trust we haven't disturbed the royal family below." "Hang the royal family!" "Their own parliament, or Reichstag, will arrange for that!" and the little man laughed. Dawn came soon enough, yellow and airless. "My dear," said Mrs. Coldfield, "I really wish you wouldn't go." "But Laura and Miss von Mitter insist on going. I can't back out now," protested Coldfield.
He is growing blind, too, or he'd never have risked his gums on the Marshal, who is all shins. If you will wait I will fetch you one of the archbishop's skull caps." "Don't trouble yourself," laughed Maurice. "What I need is not a hat, but a towel, and I'll get that at the hotel. George! I feel so like an ass. What is your name, Lieutenant?" "Von Mitter, Carl von Mitter, at your service.
"Perhaps divide it, perhaps turn it over to France, providing France agrees to use it for charitable purposes." "A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?" said M. Ferraud. "Findings is keepings," repeated Breitmann, with a pale smile. The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she but read what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with a smile!
Riemer, who was both surgeon and soldier, probed the wound in von Miner's leg and extracted the bullet, which had lodged in the fleshy part of the calf. He applied cold water, lints and bandages. All the while von Mitter sat in the chair, his eyes shut and his lips closed tightly. "There!" said the surgeon, standing up, "that's better. The loss of blood is the worst part of it."
This is not to affirm that they do not fight stoutly to hold this dream; simply, that they accept defeat like good soldiers. There are many heroes who have never heard war's alarms. He knew that the whole heart of Hildegarde von Mitter had yielded to another. But it had been thrown, as it were, against a wall; there was this one hope, dimly burning, that some day he might catch it on the rebound.
Next he took a few stitches in the cut on the cheek and threw his cloak over the wounded man's knee. "He'll be all right in a day or so, though he'll limp. Carl?" "O, I'm sound enough," answered von Mitter, opening his eyes. "A little weak in the knees, that's all. I shouldn't have given in, only Kopf got away when we had him fair and fast.
Maurice coolly leveled his revolver and sent two bullets after him. The second one caused Johann to straighten stiffly, then to sink; but he hung on to the horse. "Hurry!" cried Maurice; "I've hit him and we'll find him along the road somewhere." They lifted von Mitter into the carriage, wheeled it about, and Scharfenstein mounted the box.
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