attempt to rise. But the moment the old man recognized him, he foamed
with rage like a wild animal.

"Ah, pig! pig!" he sputtered. "You are not dead! You are going to
denounce me now--wait--wait!"

And rushing on the German with all the strength of leis arms he flung the
raised fork like a lance and buried the four prongs full length in his
breast.

The soldier fell over on his back, uttering a long death moan, while the
old peasant, drawing the fork out of his breast, plunged it over and over
again into his abdomen, his stomach, his throat, like a madman, piercing
the body from head to foot, as it still quivered, and the blood gushed
out in streams.

Finally he stopped, exhausted by his arduous work, swallowing great
mouthfuls of air, calmed down at the completion of the murder.

As the cocks were beginning to crow in the poultry yard and it was near
daybreak, he set to work to bury the man.

He dug a hole in the manure till he reached the earth, dug down further,
working wildly, in a frenzy of strength with frantic motions of his arms
and body.

When the pit was deep enough he rolled the corpse into it with the fork,
covered it with earth, which he stamped down for some time, and then put
back the manure, and he smiled as he saw the thick snow finishing his
work and covering up its traces with a white sheet.