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Page 103
They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told
little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the
young prince as he passed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere.
The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline.
A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased
to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and
obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain
point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of
their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which
the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John
thought so.
The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting
sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered
the ch�teau. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the
uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose
with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was
troubled.
Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of
his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood,
even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that
compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not
like it at all. The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to
be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they
stood had set the torch to Europe.
"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 ch�teau 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."
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