The captain now fell back; he was
livid, for he felt that he was at the mercy of the man who had just
spared him. At last he understood that this was an execution.
Laguitte, squarely poised on his infirm legs and seemingly turned to
stone, stood waiting. The two men looked at each other fixedly. In
Burle's blurred eyes there arose a supplication--a prayer for pardon.
He knew why he was going to die, and like a child he promised not to
transgress again. But the major's eyes remained implacable; honor had
spoken, and he silenced his emotion and his pity.
"Let it end," he muttered between his teeth.
Then it was he who attacked. Like a flash of lightning his sword flamed,
flying from right to left, and then with a resistless thrust it pierced
the breast of the captain, who fell like a log without even a groan.
Laguitte had released his hold upon his sword and stood gazing at that
poor old rascal Burle, who was stretched upon his back with his fat
stomach bulging out.
"Oh, my God! My God!" repeated the major furiously and despairingly, and
then he began to swear.
They led him away, and, both his legs failing him, he had to be
supported on either side, for he could not even use his stick.
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