"On one condition will I spare your lives," said he. And that condition had been pounded into their ears with unceasing violence, day and night, by officers high and low, since the hour of their capture. It was a very simple condition, declared the Germans. Only a stubborn fool would fail to take advantage of the opportunity offered. The exact position of that mysterious battery,--that was all the general demanded in return for his goodness in sparing their lives. He asked no more of them than a few, truthful words. They had steadfastly refused to betray their countrymen. François could not see his brother, but now and then he put out a timid hand to touch the shaking figure. He could not understand. Why was it not the other way about? Who was he to offer consolation to the big and strong? "Courage," he would say, and then stare hard ahead into the blackness. "You are great and strong," he would add. "It is I who am weak and little, Louis. I am the little brother." "You have not so much to live for as I," Louis would mutter, over and over again. Their hour drew near. "Eat this," persuaded François, pressing upon Louis the hunk of bread their captors had tossed down to them. "Eat? God! How can I eat?" "Then drink. It is not cold, but--" "Let me alone! Keep away from me! God in heaven, why do they leave that Jean Picard down here with us--" "You have seen hundreds of dead men, Louis. All of them were heroes. All of them were brave. It was glorious to die as they died. Why should we be afraid of death?" "But they died like men, not like rats. They died smiling. They had no time to think." And then he fell to moaning. His teeth rattled. He turned upon his face and for many minutes beat upon the stone steps with his clenched hands, choking out appeals to his Maker. François stood. His hot, unblinking eyes tried to pierce the darkness. Tears of shame and pity for this big brother burnt their way out and ran down his cheeks. He was wondering. He was striving to put away the horrid doubt that was searing his soul: the doubt of Louis! The dreary age wore on. Louis slept! The little brother sat with his chin in his hands, his heart cold, his eyes closed. He prayed. Then came the sound of the heavy object being dragged away from the door at the top of the steps. They both sprang to their feet. An oblong patch of drab, gray light appeared overhead. Sunrise! "Come! It is time," called down a hoarse voice. Three guns hung over the edge of the opening. They were taking no chances. "Louis!" cried François sharply. Louis straightened his gaunt figure. The light from above fell upon his face. It was white,--deathly white,--but transfigured. A great light flamed in his eyes.