The general looked at me. I was obliged to nod assent.

'You are a spy from the enemy, my good man....'

'Not I... not I...' whispered the distracted Jew.

'You have the enemy with similar information before provided?
Confess....'

'How could I?'

'You will not deceive me, my good man. Are you a spy?'

The Jew closed his eyes, shook his head, and lifted the skirts of his
gown.

'Hang him,' the general pronounced expressively after a brief
silence,'according to the law. Where is Mr. Fiodor Schliekelmann?'

They ran to fetch Schliekelmann, the general's adjutant. Girshel began
to turn greenish, his mouth fell open, his eyes seemed starting out of
his head. The adjutant came in. The general gave him the requisite
instructions. The secretary showed his sickly, pock-marked face for an
instant. Two or three officers peeped into the room inquisitively.

'Have pity, your Excellency,' I said to the general in German as best I
could; 'let him off....'

'You, young man,' he answered me in Russian, 'I was saying to you, are