Loudon does not deny the difficulty; but insists on the possibility, the necessity: Councils of War are bid, remonstrances, encouragements.

"We will lend you a Corps," answers Butturlin; "but as to our Army cooperating,--except in that far-off way, it is too dangerous!" Meanwhile provisions are running low; the time presses.

A formal Plan, presented by the ardent Loudon,--Loudon himself to take the deadlier part,--"Mark it, noble Russian gentlemen; and you to have the easier!"-- surely that is loyal, and not in the old cat's-paw way?
But in that, too, there is an offence.

Butturlin and the Russians grumble to themselves: "And you to take all the credit, as you did at Kunersdorf?
A mere adjunct, or auxiliary, we: and we are a Feldmarschall; and you, what is your rank and seniority ?" In short, they will not do it; and in the end coldly answer: "A Corps, if you like; but the whole Army, positively no." Upon which Loudon goes home half mad; and has a colic for eight-and-forty hours.

This was September 2d; the final sour refusal;--nearly heart-breaking to Loudon.