"Well, here's our disguise," said the old soldier.
"Quite so," interposed the officer. "But what shall we do with these two?"
"Nothing simpler. Knock them in the head after we have found out what we can from them, and——"
But Marteau shook his head.
"I can't murder helpless prisoners," he said decisively.
"If you had seen what they did to us in Russia you wouldn't have any hesitation on that score," growled the grenadier. "I had comrades whom they stripped naked and turned loose in the snow. Some of them they buried alive, some they gave to the wolves, some they burned to death. I have no more feeling for them than I have for reptiles or devils."
"I can't do it," said the younger soldier stubbornly. "We must think of some other way."
Old Bullet-Stopper stood frowning, trying to think of some argument by which to overcome these foolish scruples, when an idea came to his friend.
"About half a mile back we passed a deserted house. Let's take them there and leave them. There will probably be ropes or straps. We can bind them. They will be sheltered and perhaps somebody may come along and release them."
"Yes, doubtless somebody will," said the grenadier gravely, thinking that if somebody proved to be a peasant their release would be an eternal one, and glad in the thought. "Very well, you are in command. Give your order."