the frozen inferno, with their faces set away from their homes.

"Our two squadrons had been formed along the edge of the forest. The
minutes of anguish were passing. The Frenchman suddenly struggled to his
feet. We helped him almost without knowing what we were doing.

"'Come,' he said, in measured tones. 'This is the moment.' He paused
for a long time, then with the same distinctness went on: 'On my word of
honour, all faith is dead in me.'

"His voice lost suddenly its self-possession. After waiting a little
while he added in a murmur: 'And even my courage.... Upon my honour.'

"Another long pause ensued before, with a great effort, he whispered
hoarsely: 'Isn't this enough to move a heart of stone? Am I to go on my
knees to you?'

"Again a deep silence fell upon the three of us. Then the French officer
flung his last word of anger at Tomassov.

"'Milksop!'

"Not a feature of the poor fellow moved. I made up my mind to go and
fetch a couple of our troopers to lead that miserable prisoner away to
the village. There was nothing else for it. I had not moved six paces
towards the group of horses and orderlies in front of our squadron
when... but you have guessed it. Of course. And I, too, I guessed it,
for I give you my word that the report of Tomassov's pistol was the most
insignificant thing imaginable. The snow certainly does absorb sound. It
was a mere feeble pop. Of the orderlies holding our horses I don't think
one turned his head round.

"Yes. Tomassov had done it. Destiny had led that De Castel to the man
who could understand him perfectly. But it was poor Tomassov's lot to be
the predestined victim. You know what the world's justice and mankind's
judgment are like. They fell heavily on him with a sort of inverted
hypocrisy. Why! That brute of an adjutant, himself, was the first to set
going horrified allusions to the shooting of a prisoner in cold blood!
Tomassov was not dismissed from the service of course. But after the
siege of Dantzig he asked for permission to resign from the army, and
went away to bury himself in the depths of his province, where a vague
story of some dark deed clung to him for years.

"Yes. He had done it. And what was it? One warrior's soul paying its
debt a hundredfold to another warrior's soul by releasing it from a fate
worse than death--the loss of all faith and courage. You may look on
it in that way. I don't know. And perhaps poor Tomassov did not know
himself. But I was