The grizzled Prussian smiled, but imperceptibly. What he saw pleased him. Louis, the big one, the older of the two, trembled. It was only by the supremest effort that he maintained a pitiable show of defiance. His face was haggard and blanched with fear; there was a hunted, shifty look in his narrowed eyes. The general's smile developed. It proffered comfort, consolation, encouragement. "And you," he said, almost gently, "have not you profited by the reflections of your three days of grace? Are you as stubborn as this mule of a brother, this foolish lad who spouts even poorer French than I address to you?" François shot a quick, appealing glance at his big brother's face. There were tiny rivulets of slaver at the corners of Louis's mouth. "Louis!" he cried out sharply. Louis lifted his sagging shoulders. "I have nothing to say," he said thickly, and with the set of his jaws François breathed deeply of relief. "So!" said the general, shrugging his shoulders. "I am sorry. You are young to die, you two. To die on the field of battle,--ah, that is noble! To die with one's back to a wall, blindfolded, and to be covered with earth so loosely that starving dogs may scratch away to feast--But, no more. You have decided. You have had many hours in which to consider the alternative. You will be shot at daybreak." The slight figure of François straightened, his chin went up. His thin, dirt-covered hands were tightly clenched. "For France!" he murmured, lifting his eyes above the head of the Prussian. A vast shudder swept over the figure of Louis, a hoarse gasp broke through his lips. The commander leaned forward, fixing him with compelling eyes. "For France!" cried François again, and once more Louis lifted his head to quaver: "For France!" "Take them away," said the commander. "But stay! How old are you?" He addressed François. "I am nineteen." "And you?" Louis's lips moved but no sound issued. "My brother is twenty-one," said François, staring hard at Louis. "He has a sweetheart who will grieve bitterly if he does not return for her caresses, eh? I thought so. Oh, you French! But she will soon recover. She will find another,--like that! So!" He snapped his fingers. "She will not wait long, my good Louis. Take them away!" Louis's face was livid. His chin trembled, his lips fell apart slackly; he lowered his eyes after an instant's contact with the staunch gaze of his brother. "You have until sunrise to change your minds," said the Prussian, turning on his heel. "Sunrise," muttered Louis, his head twitching.