The Great White Army

by Max Pemberton

"Gentlemen," said I, "name three of you to act with me as judges in this matter, and I promise you satisfaction. If the woman be guilty she shall be hanged. Come now—is not this a proper course to take? Some of you will have daughters of your own. Do not forget them at such a moment as this."

They assented to the proposition, though I could see that they were far from being appeased. There was a hurried consultation among them, and then the intimation that they had chosen Captains Legard and Fournier, of the fusiliers, and Major Duhesne, of the chasseurs à cheval, to act with my nephew and myself. The major stood as spokesman for the others, and first addressed the company.

"It must be here in this room, gentlemen," he said; "the witness cannot be moved; we will try the woman here." And that was a claim none could contest.

I shall never forget the scene which now ensued, nor the grim drama we played in that mean farmhouse during the next ten minutes. All about us were the tumbled mattresses and the stricken forms of the men who had been scorched by the flames. Common rushlights and miserable lanterns afforded the only illumination that we had. The trial was held about the stove, whereby there lay the sick man who had denounced Petrovka. She herself was set in a circle amid her judges, while the man was commanded by me to repeat the accusation he had made. He did so with a restraint which astonished me when I remembered his sufferings. Raising himself up in bed, he turned his haggard eyes upon the woman and told us what he knew.

"I was asleep in the little loft of the barn," he said; "then I heard a sound of someone moving in the straw about me. Thinking it was one of our men, I asked him what he did there; but there was no answer, and for a little while nobody stirred. Presently I heard a crackling sound and smelt fire, and at that I looked up and saw the thatch was ablaze. Then there came light in the place, and I saw the woman. She was creeping down the ladder, but I recognised her all the same. She stands there, messieurs, and she knows that it is true."

A deep cry of anger escaped the auditors when the man had done. Obviously he did not lie, and his evidence staggered even me. Petrovka herself heard him with a wonder no art could have aped, and her very attitude was an appeal to reason where I was concerned.

Upon my comrades its effect was far otherwise. There were shouts of "à mort!" from every quarter of the room. Some said, "Let her speak!" others were for not hearing her at all. My loud word of command alone saved her from the imminence of death.

"Gentlemen," said I, "this story is all very well, but it is possible that this man may be mistaken. What confirmation have you of the story? Let the girl speak for herself; I see she is ready."

I turned to Petrovka, and was astonished at her new demeanour. She appeared to have recovered her composure altogether. Her face was pale but wonderfully beautiful. She had removed her cap, and her almost golden hair fell upon her shoulders in a disorder pretty to see. Looking from one to the other of us, she declared her innocence.

"Frenchmen," she said, "I was never in the loft of the barn at all. My father is a Russian noble—do we stoop to such crimes as this? I am a woman, and I have a woman's heart; why do you accuse me of such wickedness?"