"I heard it, monsieur," said the voice of the marquise in an undertone behind him. "My poor husband is incapable of speech. We must leave all to you. But can we resist fire?" "Madame, I seek to gain time. We can expect no mercy from the Germans. There is but one hope--that our army will arrive in time. If that hope fails----" "Spare us fire, monsieur, I implore you. It is frightful." She wrung her hands piteously. "Trust me, madame; hope, and pray," said Burton. When the five minutes were up, the German hailed him. "Your answer--quickly." "Monsieur le capitaine," said Burton, suavely, "we cannot surrender yet. We should like to kill a few more Germans." The officer let out a vicious oath. "Then roast!" he cried. "You and the rest." "Including your worthy commandant, mon capitaine? Don’t forget him." "You have murdered him." "That is the explanation of their reckless shooting," thought Burton. He replied: "Not at all. We are not Germans." "You lie!" cried the captain, whose anger was rapidly getting the better of him. "Did I not remind you, monsieur, that we are not Germans?" The officer was speechless with rage. Burton imagined his quandary. It would be awkward for him if he set fire to the château and burnt his superior. His next words showed his state of mind. "You say Major Schwikkard is alive. Prove it." "Nothing easier, mon capitaine," said Burton. "You must give me a few minutes. He is a heavy man." He saw that there was nothing to lose, possibly something to gain, by convincing the German. Slipping down from his perch, he hurried to Pierre, who was kneeling at his master’s chair. "Come with me," he said, and led him into the room where the major lay gagged and bound. The bed was a light one. They carried it to the window, and tilted it on end. Leaving Pierre to maintain it in that position, Burton returned to the chair, and kept silence until the captain impatiently demanded his proofs. "I must trouble you to descend and go to the rear of the wing, monsieur," said Burton. "It is dark: no doubt you have a flashlight?" "We have; what then? Do not play with me." "Far from it, monsieur. I am aware of the gravity of your position. Go down to the garden at the rear, and look up at the window that will then face you. But do not flash your light up until I give the word." The German snarled under his breath. Burton caught the sounds of a whispered consultation at the stair-head. A minute or two later the officer called up from the garden. Burton withdrew the piled-up furniture, opened the shutters, and helped Pierre to lift the bed, tilted as it was, to the window. The major’s form, stretched upon it, somewhat resembled a mummy in a case. "Now, monsieur!" Burton called. The glaring light of an acetylene lamp was thrown up towards the window. It fell on the major’s face, which, ghastly in itself, looked death-like in the glare. "He is dead!" the captain shouted.