The sound of impatient footsteps mingled with the moans of the insistent wind.

“Doctor, doctor, will it last long ?” whispered Apostol Bologa, seizing the arm of the doctor, who was endeavouring to make his way through the closely huddled circle of soldiers.

“You’ll see.… There’s no time now to …” the doctor replied in a worried voice. “Make way there! Good God! Now then, boys, let me through, will you?”

Bologa had managed to slip through in the wake of the doctor until he had reached the foot of the grave opposite the gallows. His throat was parched, a bitter taste filled his mouth, and the excitement within him was almost painful. He felt glad that he would be able to see it all, and in order to calm his impatience, he looked round, seeking acquaintances and friends amongst the many war-strained faces frowning under the weight of the steel helmets.

The general stood only a few paces away, dour and immovable. A little farther on, Lieutenant Gross, greatly agitated, followed with desperate attention every movement of the prisoner, who had been a good friend of his. Seeing Gross, Bologa remembered the foreign captain of a little while ago and discovered him standing not far behind the general, his chin resting in his hand and his figure as immovable as a statue.

“What a man!” thought Bologa with annoyance. “He comes here straight from the station and wants to teach me humanitarianism as if I were a savage beast or …”

At that moment a hand caught hold of his arm.

“Ah, Cervenco!” murmured Bologa, looking round. “You here? I am surprised.… I am sure you did not come of your own free will. Did you know that I was on the court martial?”

Captain Cervenco was prevented from answering by the voice of the prosecutor, which, sharper and harsher even than heretofore, barked:

“Everybody fall back three paces! Make room! Make room!”

The spectators, startled by the noise which dared to break the silence, hastened to fall back a few steps. Only the general remained in the cleared space round the margin of the grave. Standing by the stake, the condemned man, with a look of exaltation in his eyes, stared straight in front of him at the embankment, which cut off the view. Bologa, with a tight feeling at his heart, now looked straight into his large, burning, dark eyes. And he saw the man under the halter turn to the priest and heard him say very clearly:

“I want to die more quickly.”

The general knitted his bushy eyebrows and said to the prosecutor:

“See what he wants.”

But the prisoner now raised his eyes above the heads of the people and did not even seem to hear the prosecutor’s question. The latter, vainly waiting for an answer, suddenly called out, with a nervous ring in his voice:

“Ready? Then … yes … then …”

And, looking uneasily at the general, he moved on to the heap of freshly dug clay at the side of the grave, smoothed out the sheet of paper, which had become crumpled in his hand, and read out the sentence of the court martial of that division, which condemned Lieutenant Svoboda to death by hanging for treason and desertion to the enemy. His voice sounded hollow and unnatural; he stumbled over the words, which drew each time a sharp glance from the general, and at the end his voice was as hoarse as if he had yelled with all his strength a whole day.

With flushed face, Apostol Bologa stared tensely at the prisoner. He could hear his own heart throb wildly, and the helmet on his head felt as tight as if it had been a few sizes too small for him and had been forced on. An unaccountable amazement filled his mind, for while the prosecutor was reading out the crimes from the sheet which trembled between his fingers, the face of the lieutenant under the halter had come to life, and the radiant and confident eyes seemed to look right into the next world. At first this look disconcerted and angered Bologa, but presently he felt distinctly the flame from the condemned man’s eyes shoot into his heart like a painful reproach. He tried to look away, but the eyes, which looked so contemptuously at death and were beautified by so great a love, fascinated him. And tensely he waited for the prisoner to open his mouth and utter one of those terrible cries of deliverance which the early Christian martyrs were wont to utter at the point of death, when the vision of Christ was vouchsafed to them.

The prosecutor folded the sheet quickly, slipped it into his pocket and muttered something inaudible. The sergeant- major approached the prisoner and whispered very humbly:

“Allow me … the cloak.”

Svoboda, without looking at him, slipped off the cloak at once and remained in a civilian’s suit with a turned-down collar which left bare his long, slim, white throat. Then he took off his hat, smoothed the hair on his forehead, and kissed passionately the crucifix in the hand of the priest, crossing himself the while quickly. Then he looked about, slightly dazed now, as if he had forgotten something. Then, with a flash of joy, he remembered, and mounted the stool near the fir stake. With his shining eyes and his white, radiant face, he looked as if he were about to announce to the world a great victory.

“Go on, man, don’t be afraid,” muttered the trembling sergeant-major to the little corporal, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him gently towards the prisoner.

The corporal approached hesitatingly, not knowing what to do. He looked back over his shoulder, and, at a sign from his superior, stretched up his arms towards the halter.

“Off with the tunic!” barked the general in a voice of thunder. “A soldier in uniform may not act as executioner!”

A minute later the corporal, now in his shirt-sleeves, and bare-headed like another prisoner, once more stretched out his hands towards the rope. Meanwhile, however, Svoboda had of his own accord slipped the noose over his head, as if he were merely trying on an unaccustomed collar.

“Pull the stool away!” whispered again the sergeant-major.

The corporal snatched the stool clumsily from under the prisoner’s feet. The arm of the gallows creaked and the body began to twirl in trying to find a support. In the eyes the strange radiant light blazed in quick flashes, which seemed to grow brighter and brighter.