"I am no miscreant. They are miscreants who would slaughter thirty-nine innocent men because the right one had slipped through their fingers."
The governor glared at Max with eyes that goggled with rage. He was clearly unaccustomed to such plain speaking. "I remember that Herr von Schenkendorf once told me that Monsieur Durend had married an Englishwoman. You are half a mad English dog, and your manners proclaim it."
"It is true," replied Max steadily.
"Ja, you and your countrymen are half barbarian. You know naught of Kultur."
"Thank God!" cried Max with an emphasis that caused the governor to spring to his feet, seize the cane anew, and slash the prisoner heavily across the cheek. Max flinched—he could not help it—but he moved neither hand nor foot.
This outburst seemed to calm the Prussian, for he dropped back into his chair and in a judicial manner, though with a very vindictive and unjudicial scowl upon his face, he passed judgment.
"The prisoner has pleaded guilty. You will take him to-morrow morning to Monsieur Durend's works, and at midday you will shoot him there."
"In public, sir?" enquired the officer.
"Yes, as an example to all his late workmen. A placard announcing the impending execution will be posted outside."
"Yes, sir."