De Chauxville kicked and struggled, but he could not get free. He only succeeded in half choking himself.
“You are going to swear,” said Steinmetz, “never to approach the princess again—never to divulge what you know of her past life.”
The Frenchman was almost blue in the face. His eyes were wild with terror.
And Karl Steinmetz thrashed him.
It did not last long. No word was spoken. The silence was only broken by their shuffling feet, by the startling report of each blow, by De Chauxville’s repeated gasps of pain.
The fur jacket was torn in several places. The white shirt appeared here and there. In one place it was stained with red.
At last Steinmetz threw him huddled into one corner of the room. The chattering face, the wild eyes that looked up at him, were terrible to see.
“When you have promised to keep the secret you may go,” said Steinmetz. “You must swear it.”
De Chauxville’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. Steinmetz poured some water into a tumbler and gave it to him.
“It had to come to this,” he said, “sooner or later. Paul would have killed you; that is the only difference. Do you swear by God in heaven above you that you will keep the princess’s secret?”