“You have made it so.”
“We have, and Prussian will is French law. You are a bold man; you merit death. But still, you know the country well?”
Bernadou smiled, as a mother might smile were any foolish enough to ask her if she remembered the look her dead child’s face had worn.
“If you know it well,” pursued the Prussian, “I will give you a chance. Lay hold of my stirrup-leather and be lashed to it, and show me straight as the crow flies to where the weapons are hidden. If you do, I will leave you your life. If you do not—”
“If I do not?”
“You will be shot.”
Bernadou was silent; his eyes glanced through the mass of soldiers to the little cottage under the trees opposite. The two there were straining to behold him, but the soldiers pushed them back, so that in the flare of the torches they could not see, nor in the tumult hear. He thanked God for it.
“Your choice?” asked the uhlan, impatiently, after a moment’s pause.
Bernadou’s lips were white, but they did not tremble as he answered, “I am no traitor.” And his eyes, as he spoke, went softly to the little porch where the light glowed from that hearth beside which he would never again sit with the creatures he loved around him.
The German looked at him. “Is that a boast, or a fact?”