The red on
his face changed into a sickly purple, and the glasses slipped
from his hands and broke into pieces on the stony ground.
"Marshal," began General Kronau, "I respect your age and valiant
services. That is why we have come thirteen miles. You may keep
your sword, and also Monsieur the prince. For the present you
are prisoners."
For a moment the Marshal was stupefied. His secret fears had
been realized. Suddenly a hoarse oath issued from his lips, he
dragged his saber from the scabbard, raised it and made a
terrible sweep at the General. But the stroke fell on a dozen
intervening blades, and the Marshal's arms were held and forced
to his sides.
"Kronau . . . you?" he roared. "Betrayed! You despicable coward
and traitor! You--" But speech forsook him, and he would have
fallen from the horse but for those who held his arms.
"Traitor?" echoed Kronau, coolly. "To what and to whom? I am
serving my true and legitimate sovereign. I am also serving
humanity, since this battle is to be bloodless. It is you who
are the traitor. You swore allegiance to the duke, and that
allegiance is the inheritance of the daughter.
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