After these fearful hours of excitement followed a general lassitude, a positive physical necessity for rest.  But, alas! there was something which drove sleep from their eyelids, and increased the weariness of their bodies.  This was hunger.  The pandours had thoroughly plundered the Prussian camp; they had taken not only the baggage of the poor soldiers, but all their provisions.

The Prussians, who had obtained so glorious a triumph in the morning, were now looking forward to a day of fasting, while the Austrians, in spite of their defeat, were consoling themselves with the provisions which they had taken from the Prussians.  Happy was he who had a piece of bread in his knapsack, or whose tent had been overlooked or forgotten by the plunderers; but few had been so fortunate, and these in the egotism of hunger refused to share their precious treasure, even with their dearest friend.

King Frederick was not among the fortunate.  The victory was his, but his laurel-wreath could not be transformed into bread.  He had said in vain to his generals and adjutants, “We will dine.”  There was nothing to set before the king.

When General Rothenberg brought this disagreeable news to the king, he said, laughing gayly:  “Let us imagine ourselves to be Catholics, my friends, for the present, and it will be quite in order that we should fast on the day of a glorious victory.  I will be quite contented with a piece of bread, and I suppose that can be found somewhere for the King of Prussia.”

But General Rothenberg’s order to the royal cook to satisfy the simple demand of his master was in vain.  The cook had nothing, neither meat, fruit, nor bread.

“I will not return empty-handed to the king,” said Rothenberg, with tears in his eyes.  “I would sooner part with my last ducat to the first soldier I meet who has a piece of bread.”

The general then passed, with inquisitive glances, through the group of soldiers who were talking over the events of the last few hours.  At last he perceived a soldier who was not talking, but was ogling a piece of bread which he seemed preparing to devour.  With a hasty spring the general was at his side, his hand upon the bread.

“I will give you two ducats for this piece of bread, my friend.”

“Two ducats! what should I do with two ducats?” he asked, with a scornful laugh.  “I cannot eat your ducats, general, and my bread is more precious to me than a handful of ducats.”

“If you will not give it for gold, then give it for love,” cried the general.  “For love of your king who is hungry, and has nothing to satisfy his craving.”

The countenance of the soldier, which had been so smiling, became earnest, and he murmured thoughtfully to himself, “The king has no bread!”

“The king is hungry,” repeated Rothenberg, almost imploringly.

“The king is hungry,” murmured the soldier, sadly, as he glanced at the bread in his hand.  Then, with quiet determination, he cut the loaf in two pieces, and handing one to the general, he said, “I will give you half of my bread, that is really all I can do for the king.  Take it, general, the matter is settled.  I will give no more.”