"If he stops," said he, "strike him on the back with your muskets! Ah, scoundrel, you desert in the face of the enemy! Your case is clear: next Sunday you will sleep under the turf of the half-moon! Will you come on? Strike him with the butt-end, you cowards!"
What pained me most was to hear the poor fellow's heavy sighs; he breathed so hard, from his fright at being taken, and knowing that he would be shot, that we could hear him fifteen paces off; the sweat ran down my forehead. And now and then he turned to me and gave me such a look as I shall never forget, as if to say: "Save me!"
If I had been alone with Dubourg and Chevreux, we would have let him go; but Winter would sooner have murdered him.
We came in this way to the foot of the postern. They made the deserter pass first. When we reached the top, a sergeant, with four men from the next station, was already there, waiting for us.
"What is it?" asked the sergeant.
"A deserter," said Winter.
The sergeant—an old man—looked at him, and said: "Take him to the station."
"No," said Winter, "he will go with us to the station on the square."
"I will reinforce you with two men," said the sergeant.
"We do not need them," replied Winter roughly. "We took him ourselves, and we are enough to guard him."