The franc tireurs, most of whom had taken refuge in the same cottage, were still defending themselves desperately; and were keeping up a heavy fire, from the windows.
"I will order them to surrender, at once," Ralph said, quietly; "if you give me your word that they shall be treated as prisoners of war."
"I will do nothing of the sort, sir," the German answered.
"Then I shall certainly not advise them to surrender," Ralph said, firmly. "I have no authority, whatever, over them; but if I give advice, it would be that they should sell their lives as dearly as possible."
The officer swore a deep German oath, and strode off. For five more minutes the fight continued round the cottage, many of the Germans falling; then a rush was made, there was a fierce contest inside the house--shouts, shrieks, cries for mercy--and then all was still.
The young Barclays and Tim were now told to sit down near a tree, at a short distance off; with two sentries, with loaded rifles, standing over them. The German soldiers took from the houses what few articles they fancied, and then set fire to them; sitting down and eating their breakfast as the flames shot up. At a short distance from where the Barclays were sitting was a group of some eight or ten franc tireurs, and six or seven peasants, guarded by some soldiers.
Near them the German major and two lieutenants were talking. One of the young men appeared to take little interest in the conversation; but the other was evidently urging some point, with great earnestness; and the major was equally plainly refusing his request, for he stamped his foot angrily, and shook his head.
"What a type that major is, of the brutal species of German," Ralph said. "One used to meet them, sometimes. Their officers are either particularly nice fellows, mere machines, or great brutes; apparently we have a specimen of each of them, here."
The officers passed near enough for the Barclays to catch what they were saying.
The young lieutenant was very pale.