“’Good!  For that I shall give you a chance to live and you shall come with us and fight for the Fatherland,” declared the captain.

“‘Bah!  That for the Fatherland!’ The lad snapped his fingers in the Prussian’s face.  Pierre’s courage, instead of further angering the German, appeared to amuse him.

“’We shall see.  It is for you to shoot your friend the sergeant.  Shoot him and you shall have your freedom and your life.  It is well that a Frenchman should be put to death by his own.  Can you shoot?’

“‘I can.’

“’Then here is a rifle.  It is loaded.  Shoot and shoot true and freedom is yours, for yourself and the old woman yonder who insulted the officer of my Emperor.’  The captain extended the rifle, butt first, toward the boy.  Pierre was outwardly calm, but within his heart a storm was raging.  Rather to the surprise of the spectators, he took the weapon, turned it over curiously in his hands, for it was the first German rifle he had handled, examined the mechanism of the lock, then raised his eyes to the motionless figure of the French sergeant.

“Pierre smiled and a new light sprang into his eyes.

“‘Well?’ demanded the captain impatiently.  ’Do you shoot or do you die?’

“‘I shoot!’ cried the little French boy, his voice high pitched and shrill.

“Pierre turned like a flash and, raising the weapon, pointed it straight at the German captain and pulled the trigger.

“No report followed.  The rifle had missed fire.  And ere Pierre could make another try the weapon was snatched from his hands and a blow from the captain’s fist again laid him low.

“‘Dog!’ raged the Prussian officer.  ’Now you shall die, and yonder French sergeant shall be a witness to your punishment.  Strip the blinder from that man’s eyes!  Bind this boy!’

“’There is no need to bind me.  I shall not run away.  I am not afraid to die for France.  I am sorry only that I did not kill you,’ answered the lad stoutly.  ‘I am young—­I can better be spared than others.’

“There was no reply to this, but the soldiers were ordered to lead the child out into the center of the square.

“‘If you run you will be shot just the same,’ warned the captain.

“‘A Frenchman never runs away,’ was the spirited retort.

“The firing squad took its place, eight men comprising the squad.

“‘Make ready!  Take aim!’

“Pierre faced them fearlessly, a smile on his face, his shoulders set well back, presenting a pathetic but brave little figure as he stood out there alone, facing death, but unafraid.

“‘Fire!’

“‘Vive la France!’ shouted the lad, waving his cap over his head.

“Eight rifles crashed in volley.  And the little figure of brave Pierre crumpled down to the ground.  He had died gloriously.  He had died a man, despite his tender years.

“Wheeling, the squad dispatched the sergeant in the same way and their desperate work was finished.”