'The Spaniards are on us, and——'
'Then why are you not on the Spaniards?' retorts Gilles.
'They have made a breach at Cantimpré.'
'Then where are your counter-mines?'
'Under the bastion.'
'Did you fire them?'
'No. The whole fort is crumbling already. It would tumble about our ears.'
'Then why are you not at the breach to make a rampart of your body?'
Again the man wavers. He is a soldier and a tried one, appears bewildered at his own act of treachery. It seemed at the time as if some one—some devil—had put cowardice into his heart at the very moment when courage and presence of mind were most urgently needed. The men, too, had faltered, broken most unexpectedly at the first assault, throwing down their arms. Even the gunners.... But it wouldn't bear thinking of. In truth, some devil had been at work, is at work now; for when the men and the captain, already stirred by Gilles' enthusiasm, looking ashamed and crestfallen, are on the point of cheering, a peremptory voice, laden with spite, rises from somewhere in the rear.
'Captain of the guard! I forbid you to listen to this man! He is a cheat and an impostor!'