“Captain von Boehlen took some prisoners, Your Highness,” said von Arnheim, “and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has sent them here under the escort of Lieutenant Puttkamer.  The young lady is Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man, whom we have seen before, is an American, John Scott in the French service.”

He spoke in French, with intention, John thought, and the heavy-lidded eyes of Auersperg dwelt an instant on the fresh and beautiful face of Julie.  And that momentary glance was wholly medieval.  John saw it and understood it.  A rage against Auersperg that would never die flamed up in his heart.  He already hated everything for which the man stood.  Auersperg’s glance passed on, and slowly measured the gigantic figure of Picard.  Then he smiled in a slow and ugly fashion.

“Ah, a peasant in civilian’s dress, captured fighting our brave armies!  Our orders are very strict upon that point.  Von Arnheim, take this franc tireur behind the chateau and have him shot at once.”

He too had spoken in French, and doubtless with intention also.  John felt a thrill of horror, but Julie Lannes, turning white, sprang before Picard: 

“No!  No!” she cried to Auersperg.  “You cannot do such a thing!  He is not a soldier!  They would not take him because he is too old!  He is my mother’s servant!  It would be barbarous to have him shot!”

Auersperg looked again at Julie, and smiled, but it was the slow, cold smile of a master.

“You beg very prettily, Mademoiselle,” he said.

She flushed, but stood firm.

“It would be murder,” she said.  “You cannot do it!”

“You know little of war.  This man is a franc tireur, a civilian in civilian’s garb, fighting against us.  It is our law that all such who are caught be shot immediately.”

“Your Highness,” said von Arnheim, “I have reason to think that the lady’s story is correct.  This man’s daughter is her maid, and he is obviously a servant of her house.”

Auersperg turned his slow, heavy look upon the young Prussian, but John noticed that von Arnheim met it without flinching, although Picard had really fired upon the Germans.  He surmised that von Arnheim was fully as high-born as Auersperg, and perhaps more so.  John knew that these things counted for a lot in Germany, however ridiculous they might seem to a democratic people.  Nevertheless Auersperg spoke with irony: 

“Your heart is overworking, von Arnheim,” he said “Sometimes I fear that it is too soft for a Prussian.  Our Emperor and our Fatherland demand that we shall turn hearts of steel to our enemies, and never spare them.  But it may be, my brave Wilhelm, that your sympathy is less for this hulking peasant and more for the fair face of the lady whom he serves.”

John saw Julie’s face flush a deep red, and his hand stole down to his belt, but no weapon was there.  Von Arnheim’s face reddened also, but he stood at attention before his superior officer and replied with dignity: