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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Konrad," she said, "I demand that at once the swine-dog be killed and cut into small bits by the knives of executioners." There was a large china jar standing on the floor near the fireplace, one of those ornaments which give their tone of sumptuousness to the rooms in Beaufort's Hotel. Madame rushed at it and kicked it. When it broke she trampled on the pieces.
After a little wait, during which he could hear the bulbs being pressed back into their sockets, the switch clicked once more. "And now, swine-dog!" the pistol tapped his skull significantly "if you value your life, speak, and speak quickly. Where is that document?" "Document?" Lanyard repeated in a tone of wonder.
"It was the captain of my company," said Bettermann, with a glare at Von Wetten. "Another Prussian swine-dog like this brute here." He waited. Von Wetten regarded him with stony calm and did not move. Bettermann flushed. "He sent me for his whip, and when I brought it, he called me to attention and cut me over the face with it." "Eh?" The old baron sat up. "Aber-"
As he passed a table, he knocked the empty flask on the floor. It did not break, and he viciously stamped his feet on it, smashing it to pieces. He began to go mad from that moment. As he kicked the wreckage about the room, his glance fell upon his rifle with the fixed bayonet. And then the swine-dog ran amok.
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