"We must wait," I answered.
Praga dismounted then, and, tying the reins of the two horses together, led them to a tree, and fastened them. Every action was done with cool, methodical purpose, which I knew was carefully calculated to increase the other's fear; and though the Corsican pretended not to watch the latter's actions, I could see that the whole time the dark, dangerous eyes were taking the keenest note of every gesture and movement.
When he had tethered the horses, he crossed the road back to where von Nauheim stood in an attitude of sullen dejection. He was like one fascinated and paralyzed with fear.
All at once I saw Praga start and glance in my direction, as a thought seemed to occur to him.
"Come," he said in a voice of rough command, short, sharp, and stern. "This way," motioning along the road toward the spot where Minna and I stood.
I wondered what he meant to do.
Von Nauheim did not move, and Praga, seizing him by the arm, half led, half dragged him forward.
"You can do an act of justice for once in your life."
He clipped the words, and followed them with a short, sneering laugh, a curious mixture of humor and anger.
"We are not alone here, and I have a fancy that you shall tell what you know about the death of young Gustav von Gramberg."