Presently she saw the two armies fall upon each other, but her longing to see her son overcame her immediately, and behold, there in the glass he appeared, seated by the side of an old ragged shepherd and eating bread and cheese, his clothes were soaked and there was no possibility of his changing them.  This worried her and she at once pictured him with a cold or lying helpless in the open air, stricken down by fever or inflammation of the lungs.  Henceforth she thought no more about the decisive battle, and forgot all else during the hours that she sat and followed George’s movements.  Then she sent for huntsmen, for messengers and for all the professors who studied geography, botany, or geology, and bade them look into the mirror, and asked them if they knew where those mountains were, of which they saw the reflection.  The smooth surface showed only the immediate surroundings of the boy, and no one could tell what the district was where George wandered.  Thereupon she sent messengers towards all points of the compass to seek him.

Thus half the day passed, and when the chancellor came again in the afternoon to inquire after the fortunes of the battle, the duchess was frightened, for she had entirely forgotten the conflict.

She therefore commanded the mirror to show her again the army and Moustache, the field-marshal, who was a cousin of her late husband.  She beheld with dismay that the ranks of her soldiers were wavering.  The chancellor saw it, too; he put his hand to his narrow forehead and cried: 

“Everything is lost!  My office, your Highness, and the land!  I must to the treasury, to the stables!  The enemy—­flight—­our brave soldiers—­I pray your Highness to keep a watch over the battle!  More important duties. . . .”

He withdrew, and when half an hour later he returned, very red in the face from all the orders that he had given, and looked over the duchess’ shoulder, unperceived into the mirror, he started back and cried out angrily, as no true courtier ought ever to allow himself to do in the presence of his sovereign:  “By the blood of my ancestors!  A boy climbing a mountain.  And there is such dire need to know . . .”

The duchess sighed and called the battle once more into view.  During the time that she had been watching her son, things had taken a better turn.  This pleased her greatly, and the chancellor exclaimed:  “Did I not prophesy this to your Highness.  The circumstances were such that the victory was bound to be ours.  Brave Moustache!  I had such confidence in him that I saw the caravans bearing the treasure depart, without a pang of uneasiness.  Will your Highness be good enough to have them recalled.”

After this the duchess had no further opportunity to see the reflection of her boy until the battle was decided and the victory theirs beyond a doubt; then she could use the mirror to gratify the desire of her heart.

When George walked along dejectedly, she thought:  “Is that my heedless boy?” and when he looked about him gaily once more to see what mischief he could get into, she rejoiced, yet it troubled her, too, to have him appear so free from all grief, she feared that he might have entirely forgotten her.