Bologa could see the eyes swell and turn purple, but they kept their spiritual brightness, as if death itself could not put it out or destroy it.

The sergeant-major said something again to the corporal, who rushed forward desperately and with both hands seized the twitching feet of the hanging man.

“Let go!” shouted the horrified prosecutor. “Stand back! What are you doing?”

The doctor at Apostol Bologa’s side stood, watch in hand, waiting. It was getting darker and darker. The wind had stopped abruptly, like a runner who comes suddenly upon a precipice. Then the silence which followed was pierced through and through by a long-drawn moan like a call.… Bologa was the only one who turned round to look, and he saw a soldier, whose face bore the scar of a bad wound, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, moaning with pity. He wished to sign to him to stop, but when he saw the flash of tears in the eyes of others around him, he became confused, and the roof of his mouth went dry.

“Why does that soldier moan?” he thought to himself, trying to think calmly. But even as the thought passed through his mind, his eyes again met the eyes of the man on the gallows, and he saw that the light which had shone in them a minute ago so bravely and confidently was now struggling desperately with the coming darkness.

A few minutes passed. The hanging body had long since stopped twitching. The twilight covered the whole earth with a black pall.

“What are we doing here, doctor?” suddenly burst out the general bearishly. “Can’t you see it’s dark?”

“Our duty, Excellency,” answered the doctor quietly, his eyes on his watch.

“What duty! Make your declaration! That’s your duty!” said the general roughly.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, drew nearer the stake and felt the hanging man’s pulse, then muttered:

“He died quicker than is usual, as if he had been tired of living.”

“We don’t want comments,” stormed the general. “The result!”

“Excellency, the prisoner has expired,” reported the doctor, saluting.

“Now? What?” asked the general, impatiently turning to the agitated prosecutor.

“Excellency, the sentence has been carried out!” answered the prosecutor hastily, clapping his heels together like a zealous recruit.

The general had come on purpose to make a speech on desertion to the enemy, and more especially on the punishment which would be mercilessly meted out to all those who forgot the duty of a soldier. But now he felt too tired and was no longer inclined for speeches.

“Then we had better go,” he muttered, and turned so swiftly that the men had barely time to draw back and make way for him.

The prosecutor quickly gave the necessary orders to the sergeant-major and then ran after the general to explain to him that the hitches which had occurred were entirely due to the lack of sense of duty amongst the men. All the others followed in the wake of the general, and the plain re-echoed with the sound of many feet. Only Apostol Bologa seemed rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the hanging man, whose coat-tails flapped in the wind.

“Poor fellow!” suddenly said the tear-filled voice of Captain Cervenco, close to Bologa.

“What? What do you say?” asked Bologa, jumping, and added immediately, to hide his emotion: “Why ‘poor fellow’? Why should …?”

But he did not finish, nor did he wait for the captain’s answer. He set off on the road towards the village as if he were afraid that the night would catch him there. Thirty paces on he caught up Klapka.

“Well, did you like it, philosopher?” asked the captain with a gentle reproach in his voice.

“Sir, punishment—crime—the law …” stuttered Apostol Bologa, upset by the captain’s question.

“Yes, yes, but still … a human being!” muttered Klapka darkly.

“Human being … human being … human being …” repeated Bologa, shivering.

The darkness around them had increased considerably. Bologa looked back over his shoulder. On the plain, as far as the eye could see, black silhouettes moved hither and thither like restless phantoms. Only the gallows shone white, indifferent, amongst the white crosses in the military cemetery.

Bologa shivered again. An icy feeling clutched at his heart. He whispered fearfully:

“What darkness, Oh God, what darkness covers the earth …”

His voice trailed like the song of a sick man and died away in the moans of the wind.

II

The darkness gripped the straggly village, in which there dwelt to-day more enemy soldiers than civilians. The dark houses kept an anxious watch over the wide unballasted road, full of holes and deeply rutted by the thousands of wagons which passed unceasingly on their way to the front, loaded with provisions for the men, and always returned loaded with the wreckage of battles.… Here and there shone an eye of yellow sickly light which meant headquarters, hospitals, and taverns.

Cursing and swearing, the men coming from the execution floundered into the large puddles.

Apostol Bologa walked silently at the side of the foreign captain. He continually tried to increase his pace in order to separate himself from this distrustful fellow, who seemed to reproach him even when he did not speak. But in some odd way he expected him every moment to make some momentous statement, and he was so annoyed that the other kept his lips tightly closed that he felt like screaming.… And the damp, overwhelming night tightened its iron grip more and more pitilessly round his heart.

Then, opposite a house with lighted windows, the sound of the general’s voice reached their ears. Klapka started and said: “I stop here … to …”

Bologa did not answer, did not even salute, but went on more quickly, relieved and glad to be free of him and fearful lest he should call him back, just as if the captain were directly responsible for the burden which weighed down his soul. Soon he turned off into a narrow little street and entered the yard of the reed hut where he was quartered. From an outhouse at the back came the strains of a mournful song. It angered him that his orderly should be in a singing mood just then. Nevertheless, he listened awhile, thinking: “It’s a Rumanian song.…” He opened his mouth to shout for Petre, but changed his mind and hastily walked into the passage. He could not find the door of the room and that infuriated him.