Count Maurice of Saxony, natural son of the late King of Poland, the most able and ere long the most illustrious of the generals in the service of France, had opposed the retrograde movement towards Bohemia.  In front of Prague, he sent for Chevert, lieutenant-colonel of the regiment of Beauce, of humble origin, but destined to rise by his courage and merit to the highest rank in the army; the two officers made a reconnoissance; the moment and the point of attack were chosen.  At the approach of night on the 25th of November, 1741, Chevert called up a grenadier.  “Thou seest yonder sentry?” said he to the soldier.  “Yes, colonel.”  “He will shout to thee, ‘Who goes there?’” “Yes, colonel.”  “He will fire upon thee and miss thee.”  “Yes, colonel.”  “Thou’lt kill him, and I shall be at thy heels.”  The grenadier salutes, and mounts up to the assault; the body of the sentry had scarcely begun to roll over the rampart when Colonel Chevert followed the soldier; the eldest son of Marshal Broglie was behind him.

Fifty men had escaladed the wall before the alarm spread through the town; a gate was soon burst to permit the entrance of Count Maurice with a body of cavalry.  Next day the elector was crowned as King of Bohemia; on the 13th of January, 1742, he was proclaimed emperor, under the name of Charles VII.

A few weeks had sufficed to crown the success; less time sufficed to undo it.  On flying from Vienna, Maria Theresa had sought refuge in Hungary; the assembly of the Estates held a meeting at Presburg; there she appeared, dressed in mourning, holding in her arms her son, scarce six months old.  Already she had known how to attach the magnates to her by the confidence she had shown them; she held out to them her child; “I am abandoned of my friends,” said she in Latin, a language still in use in Hungary amongst the upper classes; “I am pursued by my enemies, attacked by my relatives; I have no hope but in your fidelity and courage; we—­my son and I—­look to you for our safety.”

The palatines scarcely gave the queen time to finish; already the sabres were out of the sheaths and flashing above their heads.  Count Bathyany was the first to shout, “Moriamur pro rege nostro Maria Theresa!” The same shout was repeated everywhere; Maria Theresa, restraining her tears, thanked her defenders with gesture and voice; she was expecting a second child before long.  “I know not,” she wrote to her mother-in-law, the Duchess of Lorraine, “if I shall have a town left to be confined in.”

[Illustration:  “Moriamur pro rege nostro.”——­142]