Your life hangs in the balance. I will give you till to-morrow
morning to make up your mind."
"Go to the devil!"
"In that, I shall offer you the precedence." And Beauvais backed
out; backed out because Maurice had wrenched loose one of the
bayonets.
Maurice flung the bayonet across the room, went back to his
chair, and tore his ill-fated letters into ribbons. When this
was done he stared moodily at the impromptu candlesticks, and
tried to conceive the manner in which Beauvais's threat would
materialize.
When the troops returned to their watch, they found the prisoner
in a recumbent position, staring at the cracks in the floor,
oblivious to all else save his thoughts, which were by no means
charitable or humane. They resumed their game of cards. At
length Maurice fell into a light slumber. The next time he
opened his eyes it was because of a peculiar jar, which
continued; a familiar, monotonous jar, such as the tread of feet
on the earth creates. Tramp, tramp, tramp; it was a large body
of men on the march. Soon this was followed by a lighter and
noisier sound --cavalry. Finally, there came the rumbling of
heavy metal--artillery.
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