"Behold the traitor," shouted the Marquis, his emotion lending depth to that thin voice. "Fire, soldiers!"
No finger pressed a trigger. The silence was ghastly.
Ah! a thrill of hope in the breast of the greater Captain, of despair in the heart of the lesser.
"By God!" muttered Yeovil, "he has lost them!"
The Marquis spurred his horse forward.
"Your oath! For France! The King! Fire!" he shouted.
And now a greater voice broke the silence.
"Comrades! Do you not know me?" said the Emperor. Was there a tremble in his clear, magnificent voice? He paused, his speech stopped. "Behold your General," he resumed. He waited a few seconds again and then finally, desperately, "Let any one among you who wishes to kill his Emperor fire—now."
He raised his voice tremendously with that last word. It almost came with the force and clearness of a battle-cry. The Marquis sat stupefied, his face ghastly pale.
"There is yet time," he cried hoarsely at last. "Is there none here faithful to his King? Fire!"