"General," said the sergeant, stepping up to him, "the men are ready;
will you give the word to fire?"
Two salons, one looking to the front of the house, and the other to the
back, communicated with each other by folding-doors, which were now wide
open. Santerre, the Marquis, Denot, Agatha, and the other republican
officer, were in the back room; the unfortunate wretches doomed to die
were collected on the gravel before the windows of the front room; the
carabineers who were to fire on them stood in a double file on the broad
area before the front door, and above the steps. Santerre, on being
addressed by the sergeant, stalked into the front room to give the
order; his altered face plainly shewed the strong passion which was at
work within his heart. As he passed from one room to the other, he threw
his cap upon the ground, and trampled on it; then clenched his fist, and
bit his lip till the blood ran. The fatal word "Fire" was on his tongue;
but, without intending it, he looked through the window, and his eyes
fell on the wretched creatures who were expecting death, and he was
unable to give the command.
Pages:
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523