"Pardon me, major," he said, respectfully, "but the Frenchman is right. It would bring discredit upon the whole army to touch these prisoners of war.
"In the other matter, I have nothing to say. The order has been published that franc tireurs, and peasants sheltering them, shall be shot; and it is not for me to discuss orders, but to obey them--but this is a matter affecting all our honors."
The major stood, for a moment, irresolute; but he knew well that the German military authorities would punish, probably with death, the atrocity which he meditated; and he said hoarsely, to some of the men near:
"Tie their arms behind their backs, and take them farther into the wood."
Ralph, his brother, and Tim Doyle were hurried into the wood by their guards but--strict as is the discipline of the German army--they could see that they disapproved, in the highest degree, of the conduct of their commanding officer.
They were still near enough to see what was passing in the village. Not a man of the franc tireurs begged his life, but stood upright against the wall. Two of the peasants imitated their example, as did a boy of not over thirteen years of age. Two other lads of the same age, and a peasant, fell on their knees and prayed piteously for life.
The young officer turned round towards the major in one, now mute, appeal. It was in vain.
"Put your rifles within a foot of their heads," the lieutenant said. "Fire!"
When the smoke cleared away, the soldiers were standing alone; and the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the ground.
The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but with a face as pale as ashes.