“Not in France nor in Austria. But this man was an Englishman; they leave legacies of friendship.”
The Colonel walked to the window and looked down into the gardens. He remained there for a time. Von Wallenstein eyed him curiously. Presently the soldier returned to his seat.
“We are crossing a chasm; a man stands in our way; as we can not go around him, we, being the stronger, push him aside. Eh?”
“You would not kill--” began the minister.
“Let us use the French meaning of the word `suppress.' And why not? Ambition, wherever it goes, leaves a trail of blood. What is a human life in this game we play? A leaf, a grain of sand.”
“But, since the prince promises to liquidate the debt, what matters it if the Englishman comes? It is all one and the same.”
“Within twenty, nay, within fifteen days, what may not happen?”
“You are ambitious,” said von Wallenstein, slyly.
“Is a Marshal's baton so much, then, above your present position? You are practically the head of the army.”
“A valiant army!” laughing; “five thousand men. Why, Madame the duchess has six thousand and three batteries.”
“Her army of six thousand is an expedient; you can raise volunteers to the amount of ten thousand.”
“To be sure I could; but supposing I did not want to?”
The minister dropped his gaze and began fingering the paper cutter. The Colonel's real purpose was still an enigma to him. “Come, you have the confidence of the king, the friendship of her Royal Highness. What do you gain in serving us? The baton?”
“You embarrass me. Questions? I should not like to lie to you. Batons were fine things when Louises and Napoleons conferred them. I have thrown my dice into the common cup; let that be sufficient.”
“A man who comes from a noble house such as you come from--”
“Ah, count, that was never to be referred to. Be content with my brain and sword. And then, there is the old saying, Give a man an ell, and look to your rod. We are all either jackals or lions, puppets or men behind the booth. I am a lion.” He rose, drew his saber half-way from the scabbard, and sent it slithering back. “In a fortnight we put it to the touch to win or lose it all, as the poet says. Every man for himself, and let the strongest win, say I.”