"Difficult, murderous," thinks Loudon; "but possible, certain, could Butturlin but be persuaded!" And tries all his rhetoric on Butturlin: "Shame on us!" urges the ardent Loudon: "Imperial and Czarish Majesties; Kriegshofrath, Russian Senate; Vienna, Petersburg, Versailles and all the world,--what are they expecting of us?
To ourselves it seemed certain, and here we sit helplessly gazing!" Loudon is very diligent upon Butturlin: "Do but believe that it is possible.
A plan can be made; many plans: the problem is solved, if only your Excellency will believe." Which Butturlin never quite will.
Nobody knows better than Friedrich in what perilous crisis he now stands: beaten here, what army or resource has he left?
Silesia is gone from him; by every likelihood, the game is gone.

This of Bunzelwitz is his last card; this is now his one stronghold in the world:--we need not say if he is vigilant in regard to this.

From about the fourth day, when his engineering was only complete in outline, he particularly expects to be attacked.

On the fifth night he concludes it will be; knowing Loudon's way.

Towards sunset, that evening (August 25th), all the tents are struck: tents, cookeries, every article of baggage, his own among the rest, are sent to Wurben Heights (to Schweidnitz, Archenholtz says; but has misremembered): the ground cleared for action.