d its edge with his numb fingers for support. He was young, he
had seen little of the ferocious cruelty which characterized his
countrymen; this was the first uprising against his color that he had
witnessed. Every blow, which seemed directed at his own body, made him
suffer until he became almost as senseless as the figure of his father.

His groping fingers finally touched the candle at his back; it was
burning low, and the blaze bit at them. With the pain there came a
thought, wild, fantastic; he shifted his position slightly until the
flame licked at his bonds. Colonel Laguerre was in the shadow now,
watching the torture with approval. Maximilien, the other soldier,
rested unmoved upon his rifle. Floreal leaned backward, and shut his
teeth; an agony ran through his veins. The odor of burning flesh rose
faintly to his nostrils.

"Softly, Congo," directed the colonel, after a time. "Let him rest for a
moment." Turning to the son he inquired, "Will you see him die rather
than speak?"

Floreal nodded silently; his face was distorted and wet with sweat.

Laguerre rose with a curse. "Little pig! I will make your tongue wag if
I have to place you between planks and saw you in twain. But you shall
have time to think. Maximilien will guard you, and in the morning you
will guide me to the hiding-place. Meanwhile we will let the old man
hang. I have an appetite for pleasanter things than this." He turned
toward the house in which Pierrine was hidden, whereat Floreal strained
at his bonds, calling after him:

"Laguerre! She is my wife--by the Church! My wife."

Petithomme opened the door silently and disappeared.

"Humph! The colonel amuses himself while I tickle the sides of this
yellow man," said Congo in some envy.

"I don't believe there is any money," Maximilien observed. "What? Am I
right?" He turned inquiringly to Floreal, but the latter had regained
his former position, and the candle-flame was licking at his wrists. "To
be sure! This is a waste of time. Make an end of the old man, Congo, and
I will take the boy back to his prison. It is late and I am sleepy."

The speaker approached his captive, his musket resting in the hollow of
his arm, his machete hanging at his side. "So, now! Don't strain so
bitterly," he laughed. "I tied those knots and they will not slip, for I
have tied too many yellow men. To-morrow you will be shot, monsieur, and
Pierrine will be a widow, so why curse the colonel if he cheats you by