She tugged at the ligatures with the vigor of an epileptic.
"Pardon!...

Pardon! I do not want to die!" The sub-lieutenant raised his sword, and lowered it again rapidly....

A shot.
Freya collapsed, her body slipping the entire length of the post until it fell forward on the ground.

The bullets had cut the cords that bound her.
As though it had acquired sudden life, her hat leaped from her head, flying off to fall about four yards further on.

A corporal with a revolver in his right hand came forward from the shooting picket:--"the death-blow." He checked his step before the puddle of blood that was forming around the victim, pressing his lips together and averting his eyes.