“I shall do nothing of the kind,” I said desperately. “The man who lays a hand on me may look to himself.”
“Call in your men, Captain. If he resists, shoot him,” said the stern old man grimly, and in the moments of waiting we looked at each other in silent defiance. Then came the tramp of men and the clash of arms in the room without, and a file of soldiers marched in.
“I must ask you for your sword, Count Benderoff,” said the officer, quietly and courteously. “You will see resistance is useless.”
For a moment I still resisted and refused.
“I beg you to save trouble,” he said again.
“I will not,” I cried furiously. “If I am to be murdered, it shall be done here, in the presence of my murderer;” and I set my back to the wall and whipped out my sword.
“Shoot him down!” shouted the infuriated old man to the soldiers, who levelled their guns dead at me. “Now, will you give up your sword?”
“No, I’ll die first, you butcher!” I exclaimed, setting my teeth.
“Do your duty, Captain,” said the inflexible old martinet.
“Count Benderoff, let me make another request,” he said, daring even the General’s displeasure in his reluctance to give the command.