"Strange," said a very young lieutenant beside the prince, showing him
his sword, "half the blade is covered with blood, and cannot have
received the stain except in a Frenchman's body. Yet I cannot recall
how it happened."
Prince Louis was about to answer, when he suddenly received a
tremendous thrust in the breast, as if dealt by the hand of an
invisible giant or the tip of a bull's horn, and, with a low cry, he
pressed his hand upon the painful spot. He withdrew it stained with
blood, and could just grasp the thought that a bullet had pierced him
ere his senses failed.
When he regained his consciousness, he found himself lying on the
trampled turf with his head resting on a saddle. His coat was
unbuttoned and a number of his comrades were busying themselves about
him. He felt no pain, only an inexpressible weariness and a strange,
almost indescribable feeling, something like an internal trickling,
which appeared to be rising into his throat and forced him to struggle
for breath like a drowning man.
"How do you feel, Prince?" asked the lieutenant-colonel, bending
anxiously over him.
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