Ulrich had then been lying seriously wounded, but after the end of the mutiny was told by many, that no other would have been made Eletto had he only been well and present.

Now an Eletto was again to be chosen, and whoever was elected would have command of at least three thousand men, and possibly more, as it was expected that other regiments would join the insurrection.

To command an army! This was power, this was the highest attainment; it was worth risking life to obtain it.
The regiments pitched their camp at Herenthals, and here the election was to be held.
In the arrangement of the tents, the distribution of the wagons which surrounded the camp like a wall, the stationing of field-pieces at the least protected places, Ulrich had the most authority, and while exercising it forced himself, for the first time in his life, to appear gentle and yielding, when he would far rather have uttered words of command.

He lived in a state of feverish excitement; sleep deserted his couch, he imagined that every word he heard referred to himself and his election.
During these days he learned to smile when he was angry, to speak pleasantly while curses were burning on his lips.

He was careful not to betray by look, word, or deed what was passing in his mind, as he feared the ridicule that would ensue should he fail to achieve his purpose.
One more day, one more night, and perhaps he would be commander-in-chief, able to conquer a kingdom and keep the world in terror.