Into the open door of the church the fugitive turned--and disappeared. The soldiers stormed in after him in a transport of fury and expectation, but the church was empty save for the figure of the curé standing at the altar. They searched for the hunchback, but he was nowhere to be seen. They threatened the curé, but he made no answer. Then a corporal, avarice overcoming revenge, seeing a gold cross on the church wall above the pulpit, rushed up the pulpit steps and laid hand on it. A "click" resounded through the church. The curé said, quietly, "The first man who robs the Church, dies, and dies with the sin on his head." The words rolled down in German--the first German words ever spoken from those altar steps. A peal of thunder crashed overhead and the soldiers paused as they gazed at the dimly-lit figure of the priest, standing in the chancel, in full vestments but--strange contrast--with a pistol in his hand. The moment passed and then the corporal, with a rude oath, laid both hands on the cross and tore it from the wall. There came a quick report and a cry. While one might count five, the corporal stood erect, holding the cross, then slowly his body sank, collapsed, crumpled in a heap and he fell huddled down the pulpit steps--dead. A howl of rage answered the shot and a dozen men rushed forward and leaped over the altar rail. The curé made no resistance and a bayonet thrust through his shoulder pinned him to the ground. "Why did you shoot?" cried the officer, stamping his foot angrily. The curé looked up calmly. "Shall a man be less a patriot for his Church than for his country?" he asked, simply. "Drag him out!" came the order. In the market place, a few steps from the church, stood the great wooden cross. They dragged the curé there and set him against it, binding his hands. Jacques Oopsdiel, who was one of the acolytes of the church, saw the curé, with the blood flowing over his white vestments, and ran forward to him with a cry, throwing his arms about him. A non-commissioned officer caught hold of the lad and tried to pull him from the priest. The boy turned like a flash and put his teeth into the soldier's hand. There was a glint of steel and a bayonet passed through the child's body. He fell at the feet of the priest. Overhead, the sky grew darker. The firing party took up its position. "Fire!" The villagers, such as dared to listen, heard the crackle of the volley, but, before the sound died away, a vivid flash threw the scene into fierce relief, accompanied by a crash as though the vaults of heaven had been smitten asunder. In that one second's glare, those who watched saw the German officer leap upwards, writhing, and then fall, struck by the thunderbolt. The thunder pealed on and rolled into the distance, as the figure of the curé, which had remained for a moment supported by the cross, fell dead beside the moaning figure of the little acolyte. FOOTNOTES: