another courier. Who could go home till they knew that the Russians
were driven from their last stronghold, that Gudenberg was drenched in
Russian blood?

No one doubted that this news would come--must come. Not the slightest
fear, the least doubt troubled the proud, pure joy of this hour. The
victory was achieved, but it was still charming to hear it confirmed; to
receive these heavenly messages. Every open space was filled with men.
Each one would see and hear for himself. No man thought himself too
distinguished, too sick, too weak, to stand for hours in the burning
sun, carried about involuntarily by this fluctuating wave of humanity.
Side by side with the laborer stood the elegant lady in her silk robes;
near the poor beggar in his ragged jacket were seen the high official
and the wealthy banker in their rich dresses.

Move than fifty thousand men were now assembled and waiting--waiting for
what they knew not--for news--for a courier who could give the details.
It was not enough to know that the king had conquered; they wished to
know the extent and the significance of this victory; and lastly,
they would know the bloody offering which this victory had cost. The
dinner-hour was passed. What cared this happy people for dinner? They
hungered for no earthly food; they thirsted for no earthly drink; they
were satisfied with the joy of victory. The clock struck three. Yes,
there comes a horseman, his bridle is hanging loose--he is covered with
dust--but how, what means this? His face is pale as death; his eyes
are misty; he looks around shame-faced and confused. No happy news is
written upon this dark and clouded brow. What means this messenger of
death in the midst of joy, triumph, and proud consciousness of victory?
They seek to hold him, to question him, but he gives no answer. He spurs
his wearied horse till he springs aloft, and the men in rash terror are
crushed against each other; but the horseman makes no sign. Silently he
dashes on through the laughing, chatting crowd, but wherever he passes,
laughter and smiles disappear, and speech is silenced.

It seemed as if the angel of death had touched his brow, and the happy
ones shuddered at his untimely presence. Now he has reached the castle,
he descends from his horse. In breathless silence, pallid, trembling
they know not why, those who have seen this dumb messenger look up
shudderingly to the balcony. At last, after long waiting, the Minister
Herzberg appeare