There seemed no way of helping the brave little harelipped man. He had little chance to be a real man in his miserable, sin-warped life. But he would go to a noble death—for France.
It was from Paul Genau that Belinda gained the first news of the proceedings of the military court. The sergeant-major had attended, and when he came into the hospital premises the Red Cross nurse saw that he was very grave indeed.
"Paul, what did they do to him?" she begged in alarm. "What has happened?"
"It is all over," declared her cousin. "Like that!" and he snapped his fingers. "Ah! I tell you Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg never makes two bites of a cherry."
"Oh, Paul!" wailed the girl, almost falling, "not both of them?"
"'Both of them?' What do you mean?" responded Paul. "There was but one prisoner. He was tried, found guilty, sentenced, and taken out and shot all in half an hour—like that! And by heaven! he was a cool one—that harelipped man. He borrowed a cigarette of me!
"'I may not repay you till hereafter, Monsieur,' he said.
"Then he smoked it—and they shot him."
Belinda covered her face with her hands. From between her fingers she sobbed another question.
"And the flying-man—Herr Gessler?"