They were brothers, Louis and François, standing in the presence of the Prussian commander, looking hopelessly into his cold, unsmiling eyes. For the third time in as many days he was bargaining with them for that which God had given them and they in turn had promised to France: their lives. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that we exalt you for what you may call courage, or that your country will sing your praises," said the general harshly. "Your country will never know how or when you die. You have nothing to gain by dying, not even the credit of dying." François allowed his hot, dry eyes to sweep slowly around the group. He was pale, his forehead wet. "You are soldiers," said he, his voice low and steady. "Is there one among you who would do the thing we are asked to do? If there is one man here who will stand forth in the presence of his comrades and say that he would betray Germany as you are asking us to betray France,--if there is such a man among you, let him speak, and the,--then I will do what you ask of me." A dozen pairs of hard implacable eyes returned his challenge. No man spoke. No man smiled. "You do not even pretend," cried the little poilu. "well, I too am a soldier. I am a soldier of France. It is nothing to me that I day to-day or to-morrow, or that my country knows when or how. Take me out and shoot me," he shouted, facing the commander. "I am but one poor soldier. I am one of millions. What is my little life worth to you?" "Nothing," said the commander. "Ten such as you would not represent the worth of one German soldier." "We say not so over there," said François boldly, jerking his thumb in the direction of Pont-a-mousson. And now for the first time the Prussians about him smiled. "What is it, pray, that you do say over there?" inquired the general mockingly. "That the worst of the Frenchmen is worth five of your best," said François, unafraid. Why should he be afraid to speak the truth? He was going to die. "And one of your frog-eating generals is the equal of five of me, I suppose?" The commander's grim face relaxed into a smile. "That is good! Ha-ha! That is good!" "So we say, excellency," said François simply. "Our Papa Joffre--ah, he is greater than all of you put in one." The Prussian flushed. His piggish eyes glittered. "Your Papa Joffre!" he scoffed. "He is greater than the Kaiser,--though I die for saying it," cried the little poilu recklessly. The commander turned his eyes from the white, impassioned face of François and looked upon the quivering, ghastly visage of the brother who stood beside him. The fire that glowed in the eyes of François was missing in those of Louis.