“In my opinion you are spies sent to watch me. I’ve got you and you are to be shot. You were pretending to fish in order to hide your plans more thoroughly. You have fallen into my hands; so much the worse for you; c’est le guerre.” “But as you came through the outposts you must certainly have the password for your return. Give me this password and I shall pardon you.” The two friends, pallid, side by side, their hands shaking with a slight nervous twitching, remained silent. The officer continued: “No one will ever know. You shall return in peace. The secret will disappear with you. If you refuse, it means death, immediate death. Choose.” They stood motionless, not saying a word. The Prussian, as cool as ever, pointing to the river, went on: “Remember that in five minutes you will be at the bottom of this stream. In five minutes! You must have some relatives?” Mont-Valerien was still thundering. The two fishermen stood silent. The German gave orders in his own tongue. Then he moved his chair so as not to be too close to the prisoners; and twelve men came and stood twenty feet away, their guns at rest. The officer continued: “I give you one minute, not a second more.” Then he got up suddenly, came to the two men, took Morissot by the arm, drew him away and said to him in a low voice: “Hurry, give me the password. Your companion won’t know. I’ll pretend I am relenting.” Morissot did not reply. Then the Prussian took aside Monsieur Sauvage and asked him the same question. Monsieur Sauvage said nothing. They were again side by side. And the officer began to give orders. The soldiers leveled their guns. Then Morissot happened to glance at the net full of gudgeons, lying in the grass, a few feet. A sunbeam was shining on the mass of quivering fish. A feeling of faintness came over him. In spite of his efforts his eyes filled with tears. He stammered: “Good-bye, Monsieur Sauvage.” Monsieur Sauvage replied: “Good-bye, Monsieur Morissot.” They shook hands, trembling from head to foot, uncontrollably. The officer shouted: “Fire!” The twelve shots sounded like one. Monsieur Sauvage fell flat on his nose. Morissot, taller, tottered, pivoted, and dropped sidewise across the body of his companion, his face turned to the sky, while streams of blood gushed over the front of his uniform. The German gave more orders. His men scattered, then returned with ropes and some stones which they fastened to the feet of the bodies; then they carried them to the bank. Mont-Valerien did not stop roaring; it was now capped with a mountain of smoke. Two soldiers took Morissot by the head and the feet; two others seized Monsieur Sauvage in the same way. The bodies, being violently swung for an instant, described a curve, then plunged upright into the river, the stones pulling the feet down. The water splashed, bubbled, shivered, then grew still, while tiny wavelets spread slowly to the shore. A little blood floated.