The officers had called for wine, and more
wine, and yet more wine, and were drinking deep and singing loud
in the dining-room.
In the morning came an orderly with a despatch from headquarters,
ordering the prince and the count to duty in a dirty village of
the coal region. Their baggage was packed into the automobile,
and they mounted their horses and went away in a rage.
"You will be sorry for this, dumbhead," growled the prince, scowling
fiercely. "Yes," added Ludra, with a hateful grin, "we shall meet
again, dear landlord, and you will be sorry."
Their host bowed and said nothing.
Some weeks later the princely automobile came to the door of the
chateau. The forester brought up word that the Prince Barenberg
and the Count Ludra were below with a message from headquarters;
the commandant wished the baron to come there immediately; the
automobile was sent to bring him. He made ready to go. His wife
and his servant tried hard to dissuade him: it was late, almost
dark, and very cold--not likely the commandant had sent for him--it
might be all a trick of those officers--they were hateful men--they
would play some cruel prank for revenge.
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