"When I became of military age."
"Noblesse oblige?"
No reply.
"In other words, you are an American with all the Belgian aristocracy's sense of responsibility to race and tradition. You are a good American, but there are inherited instincts which sent you back to serve two years with the colours—to serve a country which for ten hundred years your race has defended. And—the Guides alone was open to a Gueldres—where, in America, a Guild was free to choose. Monsieur, you are Belgian; and, as a Belgian, you were properly seized as a hostage and properly sentenced to pay the penalty for the murderous misbehaviour of your own people! I approve the sentence. Have you anything to say?"
"No."
The general regarded him closely, then rose, came around the end of the desk, walked across the room and halted directly in front of Guild.
"So you see there is no chance for you," he said, staring hard at him.
Guild managed to control his voice and speak clearly: "I see," he said.
"Suppose," said von Reiter, still staring at him, "I ask you to do me a favour?"
Guild's face was marble, but he managed to force a smile: "You ask a favour of a prisoner a few moments before his execution?"