The road had many
windings, and was billowed frequently with hills, and ran
through small forests. Only the vast blue bulk of the mountains
remained ever in view.
"We shall drink at the Red Chateau to-night," said the prince,
gaily, to Maurice.
"That we shall," replied Maurice; "and the best in the cellars."
Only the Marshal said nothing; he knew what war was. In his
youth he had served in Transylvania, and he was not minded to
laugh and jest. Then, too, there was injustice on both sides.
Poor devil! as his thoughts recurred to the king. Touched for
the moment by the wings of ambition, which is at best a white
vulture, he had usurped another's throne, and to this end! But
he was less answerable than the archbishop, who had urged him.
Occasionally he glanced back at the native troops, the foot, the
horse, the artillery, and scowled. From these his glance
wandered to the cold, impassive face of General Kronau, who rode
at his side, and he rubbed his nose. Kronau had been a favorite
of Albrecht's . . . How would he act? In truth, the Marshal's
thoughts were not altogether pleasant. Some of these men
surrounding him, exchanging persiflage, might never witness
another sunset.
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