His face was so red
that even at that distance Andersen caught the odd, whitish gleam of
his light protruding moustache and eyebrows against the vivid colour
of his skin. The broken tones of his raucous voice reached distinctly
to where the teacher, listening intently, lay hidden.
"I know what I am about. I don't need anybody's advice," the officer
cried. He clapped his arms akimbo and looked down at some one among
the group of bustling soldiers. "I'll show you how to be a rebel, you
damned skunk."
Andersen's heart beat fast. "Good heavens!" he thought. "Is it
possible?" His head grew chill as if struck by a cold wave.
"Officer," a quiet, restrained, yet distinct voice came from among the
soldiers, "you have no right--It's for the court to decide--you aren't
a judge--it's plain murder, not--" "Silence!" thundered the officer,
his voice choking with rage. "I'll give you a court. Ivanov, go
ahead."
He put the spurs to his horse and rode away. Gabriel Andersen
mechanically observed how carefully the horse picked its way, placing
its feet daintily as if for the steps of a minuet. Its ears were
pricked to catch every sound.
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