the twelfth of June,
at nine o'clock in the morning, Marshal, Duke of Berwick, while
standing upon the banquette, and directing the captain of the siege,
was struck by a cannon ball--whether French or Austrian, was never
known--and was blown to pieces. In an instant of time he had made the
whole journey from this country into the other one, and suffered not
one pang. He had made twenty-nine campaigns, and had commanded in
fifteen, and had never had his skin broken. Glory holds an invisible
shield before her children. Caesar was never wounded, nor Pompey, nor
Charlemagne, nor Henry IV, nor any of the great generals of Louis XIV.
But sometimes, the days of a warrior being accomplished, he is
accorded death upon the Bed of Honor, as it was anciently called. The
great Constable de Bourbon never received but one wound, and that his
death wound, while leading the assault. Old Marshal Villars, lying at
the age of eighty on his deathbed, said, when he heard how the Duke of
Berwick had been called higher: "That man was ever lucky."

The sorrow and confusion brought about by this terrible loss is not
to be described. But the soldiers, infuriated by the death of the
great marshal, demanded Philipsburg as a sacrifice to his ashes, and
the siege was conducted with the greatest fury.

Within three weeks from the time I had parted from Francezka in
Brabant I received a message from her. She was at a little village,
three miles from Philipsburg, and desired to see me.

I had no difficulty in getting away, and I reached the village where
Francezka was, in the late afternoon. It was a small, peaceful place,
lying in the lap of the hills, and the inn on the outskirts of it was
plain, but comfortable. When I rode up, Francezka was awaiting me on
the balcony of her room. Her traveling chaise was in the tavern yard,
and I caught sight of Peter, with two men servants, and Elizabeth,
Francezka's maid.

As always, Francezka seemed glad to see me. She knew I had no news of
Gaston, and only asked me if search was still kept up for him. I told
her yes, and that Count Saxe had increased the already large reward
offered for news of Gaston. Also I told her that we were well
convinced Gaston must be on the farther side of the Rhine; I did not
say "if alive." I could not, with Francezka's lovely, miserable eyes
upon me. But she was perfectly calm and collected. I never saw her
more entirely mistress of herself.

I then asked her of her own affair