t is for my master," said General Fink, solemnly--"for the King of
Prussia, who at Rossbach, with twenty thousand men, has gained a victory
over sixty thousand French soldiers."

A cry of rage, and Maria Josephine fell fainting to the floor.

CHAPTER XII. CAMP SCENE

It was a cold winter day, and in the Prussian camp at Newmark every one
was occupied making fires.

"Let us get a great deal of wood," said a sprightly-looking, slender
young soldier, to his comrades; "our limbs must not be stiff to-day. I
think to-morrow all will go off bravely, and we will prepare a strong
soup for the Austrians."

"And instead of the noodles, we will send them cannon-balls," said a
comrade, standing near him. "But see here, brother, as we are not going
to fight this evening, I think we should make use of the time and cook
a soup for ourselves. When we have wood enough for a good fire, we will
set the kettle over it, and the best of pastimes will be ready. Shall
we do it, comrades? Every man a groschen, and Charles Henry Buschman to
cook the noodles."

"Yet, Buschman must cook the noodles; no one understands it so well
as he. Charles Henry Buschman! Where hides the fellow? He is generally
sticking to Fritz Kober, and they are chatting together as if they were
lovers. Buschman! Charles Henry Buschman! Where are you?"

"Here I am!" cried a bright, fresh voice, and a slender youth, belonging
to Prince Henry's regiment, stepped forward and joined them. "Who calls
me?--what do you want?"

"We want you to cook noodles for us, Buschman; every man pays a
groschen, and eats to his heart's content. You shall have them for
nothing, because you prepare them."

"I will have nothing that I don't pay for," said Charles Henry, proudly;
"I can pay as well as the rest of you, and perhaps I have more money
than all of you; for while you are drinking, smoking, and playing, I put
my groschens aside for a rainy day."

"Yes, that is true; Buschman is the most orderly, the most industrious
of us all," said Fritz Kober, as he nodded lovingly to his young friend.
"He does not drink, or smoke, or play; and, I can tell you, he sews like
a woman. He mended a shirt for me to-day. A ball had passed through it
at Rossbach, making a hole in the left sleeve. I tell you, the shirt
looks as if a clever woman had mended it."

"Well, it is a pity he isn't one," said one of the soldiers, with a
merry laugh; "perhaps you have a sister at home, Henry, whom y