peril lent tenfold strength. The
panting of the combatants, the straining of sinews and cracking
of joints, resounded for a moment in the obscurity. The revolver,
fortunately, had fallen to the floor in the struggle. Cabasse's choking,
inarticulate voice was heard exclaiming: "The cords, the cords!" and
Ducat handed to Sambuc the coil of thin rope with which they had had the
foresight to provide themselves. Scant ceremony was displayed in binding
their hapless victim; the operation was conducted to the accompaniment
of kicks and cuffs. The legs were secured first, then the arms were
firmly pinioned to the sides, and finally they wound the cord at random
many times around the Prussian's body, wherever his contortions would
allow them to place it, with such an affluence of loops and knots
that he had the appearance of being enmeshed in a gigantic net. To his
unintermitting outcries Ducat's voice responded: "Shut your jaw!" and
Cabasse silenced him more effectually by gagging him with an old blue
handkerchief. Then, first waiting a moment to get their breath, they
carried him, an inert mass, to the kitchen and deposited him upon the
big table, beside the candle.

"Ah, the Prussian scum!" exclaimed Sambuc, wiping the sweat from his
forehead, "he gave us trouble enough! Say, Silvine, light another
candle, will you, so we can get a good view of the d----d pig and see
what he looks like."

Silvine arose, her wide-dilated eyes shining bright from out her
colorless face. She spoke no word, but lit another candle and came and
placed it by Goliah's head on the side opposite the other; he produced
the effect, thus brilliantly illuminated, of a corpse between two
mortuary tapers. And in that brief moment their glances met; his was the
wild, agonized look of the supplicant whom his fears have overmastered,
but she affected not to understand, and withdrew to the sideboard, where
she remained standing with her icy, unyielding air.

"The beast has nearly chewed my finger off," growled Cabasse, from whose
hand blood was trickling. "I'm going to spoil his ugly mug for him."

He had taken the revolver from the floor and was holding it poised by
the barrel in readiness to strike, when Sambuc disarmed him.

"No, no! none of that. We are not murderers, we francs-tireurs; we are
judges. Do you hear, you dirty Prussian? we're going to try you; and
you need have no fear, your rights shall be respected. We can't let you
speak in your own de