n't. He's dead, he is. I know 'em, Herr Leutnant. Dozens of 'em
already, for a flogging or even for a kick; they call it 'escaping by
the back door.' And now she knows. It's spreading, I tell you."

"Good Lord!" said Jovannic slowly. But suddenly, in a blaze of
revelation, he understood what had lurked in his mind since the scene
in the village; the smiles that mirth of men who triumph by a
stratagem, who see their adversary vainglorious, strong and doomed.
He remembered Captain Hahn's choleric pomp, his own dignity and
aloofness; and it was with a heat of embarrassment that he now
perceived how he must appear to the prisoner.

It did not occur to him to doubt the sergeant; for the truth sprang
at him.

"You, you knew this, signorina?"

The girl had moved half a dozen paces to where the shadow of the
great yews was deepening on the path. There she lingered, a slender
presence, the oval of her face shining pale in the shade.

He heard her sigh. "Yes," she answered; "I knew."

Jovannic hesitated; then, gathering himself, he turned to the
sergeant. "Now, I'm going to have that man's hands untied," he said.
The brisk speech relieved him like an oath in anger. "No!" as the
sergeant began to rumble "If you answer me when I give you an order
I'll put you in irons. He's to be untied and fed; and if anything
happens to him, if you don't deliver him alive in the morning, I'll
send you before the tribunal and I'll ask to have you shot. You
understand that?"

The old sergeant dropped his hands; he saw that he had to deal with
an officer who, for the moment, meant what he said, and he was old in
wisdom. He dragged himself to a parody of "attention."

"I understand, Herr Leutnant," he growled. But the habit of years was
too strong for him, and he slacked his posture. "It means watching
him all night; the men'll get no sleep."

"You can watch yourself, for all I care," snapped Jovannic. "Now
bring me the book."

The signing and so forth were completed; the prisoner, unbound, stood
between two watchful guards, who attitudinised as though ready to
pounce and grapple him upon the least movement. "Now," commanded
Jovannic, "take him in and feed him. And for the rest you have your
orders."

"March him in," directed the sergeant to the men. The prisoner turned
obediently between them and passed towards the open door of the
guardhouse. He did not look round, and his passivity, his quiescence,
suggested to Jovannic, in a thrill