the head jailer of st. lazare stood in the outer hall of the prison, two days after the arrest at trudaine’s lodgings, smoking his morning pipe. looking toward the courtyard gate, he saw the wicket opened, and a privileged man let in, whom he soon recognized as the chief agent of the second section of secret police. “why, friend lomaque,” cried the jailer, advancing toward the courtyard, “what brings you here this morning, business or pleasure?”
“pleasure, this time, citizen. i have an idle hour or two to spare for a walk. i find myself passing the prison, and i can’t resist calling in to see how my friend the head jailer is getting on.” lomaque spoke in a surprisingly brisk and airy manner. his eyes were suffering under a violent fit of weakness and winking; but he smiled, notwithstanding, with an air of the most inveterate cheerfulness. those old enemies of his, who always distrusted him most when his eyes were most affected, would have certainly disbelieved every word of the friendly speech he had just made, and would have assumed it as a matter of fact that his visit to the head jailer had some specially underhand business at the bottom of it.
“how am i getting on?” said the jailer, shaking his head. “overworked, friend—overworked. no idle hours in our department. even the guillotine is getting too slow for us!”
“sent off your batch of prisoners for trial this morning?” asked lomaque, with an appearance of perfect unconcern.
“no; they’re just going,” answered the other. “come and have a look at them.” he spoke as if the prisoners were a collection of pictures on view, or a set of dresses just made up. lomaque nodded his head, still with his air of happy, holiday carelessness. the jailer led the way to an inner hall; and, pointing lazily with his pipe-stem, said: “our morning batch, citizen, just ready for the baking.”
in one corner of the hall were huddled together more than thirty men and women of all ranks and ages; some staring round them with looks of blank despair; some laughing and gossiping recklessly. near them lounged a guard of “patriots,” smoking, spitting, and swearing. between the patriots and the prisoners sat, on a rickety stool, the second jailer—a humpbacked man, with an immense red mustache—finishing his breakfast of broad beans, which he scooped out of a basin with his knife, and washed down with copious draughts of wine from a bottle. carelessly as lomaque looked at the shocking scene before him, his quick eyes contrived to take note of every prisoner’s face, and to descry in a few minutes trudaine and his sister standing together at the back of the group.
“now then, apollo!” cried the head jailer, addressing his subordinate by a facetious prison nickname, “don’t be all day starting that trumpery batch of yours. and harkye, friend, i have leave of absence, on business, at my section this afternoon. so it will be your duty to read the list for the guillotine, and chalk the prisoners’ doors before the cart comes to-morrow morning. ‘ware the bottle, apollo, to-day; ‘ware the bottle, for fear of accidents with the death-list to-morrow.”
“thirsty july weather, this—eh, citizen?” said lomaque, leaving the head jailer, and patting the hunchback in the friendliest manner on the shoulder. “why, how you have got your batch huddled up together this morning! shall i help you to shove them into marching order? my time is quite at your disposal. this is a holiday morning with me!”
“ha, ha, ha! what a jolly dog he is on his holiday morning!” exclaimed the head jailer, as lomaque—apparently taking leave of his natural character altogether in the exhilaration of an hour’s unexpected leisure—began pushing and pulling the prisoners into rank, with humorous mock apologies, at which not the officials only, but many of the victims themselves—reckless victims of a reckless tyranny—laughed heartily. persevering to the last in his practical jest, lomaque contrived to get close to trudaine for a minute, and to give him one significant look before he seized him by the shoulders, like the rest. “now, then, rear-guard,” cried lomaque, pushing trudaine on, “close the line of march, and mind you keep step with your young woman there. pluck up your spirits, citoyenne! one gets used to everything in this world, even to the guillotine!”
while he was speaking and pushing at the same time, trudaine felt a piece of paper slip quickly between his neck and his cravat. “courage!” he whispered, pressing his sister’s hand, as he saw her shuddering under the assumed brutality of lomaque’s joke.
surrounded by the guard of “patriots,” the procession of prisoners moved slowly into the outer courtyard, on its way to the revolutionary tribunal, the humpbacked jailer bringing up the rear. lomaque was about to follow at some little distance, but the head jailer hospitably expostulated. “what a hurry you’re in!” said he. “now that incorrigible drinker, my second in command, has gone off with his batch, i don’t mind asking you to step in and have a drop of wine.”
“thank you,” answered lomaque; “but i have rather a fancy for hearing the trial this morning. suppose i come back afterward? what time do you go to your section? at two o’clock, eh? good! i shall try if i can’t get here soon after one.” with these words he nodded and went out. the brilliant sunlight in the courtyard made him wink faster than ever. had any of his old enemies been with him, they would have whispered within themselves, “if you mean to come back at all, citizen lomaque, it will not be soon after one!”
on his way through the streets, the chief agent met one or two police office friends, who delayed his progress; so that when he arrived at the revolutionary tribunal the trials of the day were just about to begin.
the principal article of furniture in the hall of justice was a long, clumsy, deal table, covered with green baize. at the head of this table sat the president and his court, with their hats on, backed by a heterogeneous collection of patriots officially connected in various ways with the proceedings that were to take place. below the front of the table, a railed-off space, with a gallery beyond, was appropriated to the general public—mostly represented, as to the gallery, on this occasion, by women, all sitting together on forms, knitting, shirt-mending, and baby-linen-making, as coolly as if they were at home. parallel with the side of the table furthest from the great door of entrance was a low platform railed off, on which the prisoners, surrounded by their guard, were now assembled to await their trial. the sun shone in brightly from a high window, and a hum of ceaseless talking pervaded the hall cheerfully as lomaque entered it. he was a privileged man here, as at the prison; and he made his way in by a private door, so as to pass to the prisoners’ platform, and to walk round it, before he got to a place behind the president’s chair. trudaine, standing with his sister on the outermost limits of the group, nodded significantly as lomaque looked up at him for an instant. he had contrived, on his way to the tribunal, to get an opportunity of reading the paper which the chief agent had slipped into his cravat. it contained these lines:
“i have just discovered who the citizen and citoyenne dubois are. there is no chance for you but to confess everything. by that means you may inculpate a certain citizen holding authority, and may make it his interest, if he loves his own life, to save yours and your sister’s.”
arrived at the back of the president’s chair, lomaque recognized his two trusty subordinates, magloire and picard, waiting among the assembled patriot officials, to give their evidence. beyond them, leaning against the wall, addressed by no one, and speaking to no one, stood the superintendent, danville. doubt and suspense were written in every line of his face; the fretfulness of an uneasy mind expressed itself in his slightest gesture—even in his manner of passing a handkerchief from time to time over his face, on which the perspiration was gathering thick and fast already.
“silence!” cried the usher of the court for the time being—a hoarse-voiced man in top-boots with a huge saber buckled to his side, and a bludgeon in his hand. “silence for the citizen president!” he reiterated, striking his bludgeon on the table.
the president rose and proclaimed that the sitting for the day had begun; then sat down again.
the momentary silence which followed was interrupted by a sudden confusion among the prisoners on the platform. two of the guards sprang in among them. there was the thump of a heavy fall—a scream of terror from some of the female prisoners—then another dead silence, broken by one of the guards, who walked across the hall with a bloody knife in his hand, and laid it on the table. “citizen president,” he said, “i have to report that one of the prisoners has just stabbed himself.” there was a murmuring exclamation, “is that all?” among the women spectators, as they resumed their work. suicide at the bar of justice was no uncommon occurrence, under the reign of terror.
“name?” asked the president, quietly taking up his pen and opening a book.
“martigne,” answered the humpbacked jailer, coming forward to the table.
“description?”
“ex-royalist coach-maker to the tyrant capet.”
“accusation?”
“conspiracy in prison.”
the president nodded, and entered in the book: “martigne, coachmaker. accused of conspiring in prison. anticipated course of law by suicide. action accepted as sufficient confession of guilt. goods confiscated. 1st thermidor, year two of the republic.”
“silence!” cried the man with the bludgeon, as the president dropped a little sand on the entry, and signing to the jailer that he might remove the dead body, closed the book.
“any special cases this morning?” resumed the president, looking round at the group behind him.
“there is one,” said lomaque, making his way to the back of the official chair. “will it be convenient to you, citizen, to take the case of louis trudaine and rose danville first? two of my men are detained here as witnesses, and their time is valuable to the republic.”
the president marked a list of names before him, and handed it to the crier or usher, placing the figures one and two against louis trudaine and rose danville.
while lomaque was backing again to his former place behind the chair, danville approached and whispered to him, “there is a rumor that secret information has reached you about the citizen and citoyenne dubois. is it true? do you know who they are?”
“yes,” answered lomaque; “but i have superior orders to keep the information to myself just at present.”
the eagerness with which danville put his question, and the disappointment he showed on getting no satisfactory answer to it, were of a nature to satisfy the observant chief agent that his superintendent was really as ignorant as he appeared to be on the subject of the man and woman dubois. that one mystery, at any rate was still, for danville, a mystery unrevealed.
“louis trudaine! rose danville!” shouted the crier, with another rap of his bludgeon.
the two came forward, at the appeal, to the front railing of the platform. the first sight of her judges, the first shock on confronting the pitiless curiosity of the audience, seemed to overwhelm rose. she turned from deadly pale to crimson, then to pale again, and hid her face on her brother’s shoulder. how fast she heard his heart throbbing! how the tears filled her eyes as she felt that his fear was all for her!
“now,” said the president, writing down their names. “denounced by whom?”
magloire and picard stepped forward to the table. the first answered—“by citizen superintendent danville.”
the reply made a great stir and sensation among both prisoners and audience.
“accused of what?” pursued the president.
“the male prisoner, of conspiracy against the republic; the female prisoner, of criminal knowledge of the same.”
“produce your proofs in answer to this order.”
picard and magloire opened their minutes of evidence, and read to the president the same particulars which they had formerly read to lomaque in the secret police office.
“good,” said the president, when they had done, “we need trouble ourselves with nothing more than the identifying of the citizen and citoyenne dubois, which, of course, you are prepared for. have you heard the evidence?” he continued, turning to the prisoners; while picard and magloire consulted together in whispers, looking perplexedly toward the chief agent, who stood silent behind them. “have you heard the evidence, prisoners? do you wish to say anything? if you do, remember that the time of this tribunal is precious, and that you will not be suffered to waste it.”
“i demand permission to speak for myself and for my sister,” answered trudaine. “my object is to save the time of the tribunal by making a confession.”
the faint whispering, audible among the women spectators a moment before, ceased instantaneously as he pronounced the word confession. in the breathless silence, his low, quiet tones penetrated to the remotest corners of the hall; while, suppressing externally all evidences of the death-agony of hope within him, he continued his address in these words:
“i confess my secret visits to the house in the rue de clery. i confess that the persons whom i went to see are the persons pointed at in the evidence. and, lastly, i confess that my object in communicating with them as i did was to supply them with the means of leaving france. if i had acted from political motives to the political prejudice of the existing government, i admit that i should be guilty of that conspiracy against the republic with which i am charged. but no political purpose animated, no political necessity urged me, in performing the action which has brought me to the bar of this tribunal. the persons whom i aided in leaving france were without political influence or political connections. i acted solely from private motives of humanity toward them and toward others—motives which a good republican may feel, and yet not turn traitor to the welfare of his country.”
“are you ready to inform the court, next, who the man and woman dubois really are?” inquired the president, impatiently.
“i am ready,” answered trudaine. “but first i desire to say one word in reference to my sister, charged here at the bar with me.” his voice grew less steady, and, for the first time, his color began to change, as rose lifted her face from his shoulder and looked up at him eagerly. “i implore the tribunal to consider my sister as innocent of all active participation in what is charged against me as a crime—” he went on. “having spoken with candor about myself, i have some claim to be believed when i speak of her; when i assert that she neither did help me nor could help me. if there be blame, it is mine only; if punishment, it is i alone who should suffer.”
he stopped suddenly, and grew confused. it was easy to guard himself from the peril of looking at rose, but he could not escape the hard trial to his self-possession of hearing her, if she spoke. just as he pronounced the last sentence, she raised her face again from his shoulder, and eagerly whispered to him:
“no, no, louis! not that sacrifice, after all the others—not that, though you should force me into speaking to them myself!”
she abruptly quitted her hold of him, and fronted the whole court in an instant. the railing in front of her shook with the quivering of her arms and hands as she held by it to support herself! her hair lay tangled on her shoulders; her face had assumed a strange fixedness; her gentle blue eyes, so soft and tender at all other times, were lit up wildly. a low hum of murmured curiosity and admiration broke from the women of the audience. some rose eagerly from the benches; others cried:
“listen, listen! she is going to speak!”
she did speak. silvery and pure the sweet voice, sweeter than ever in sadness, stole its way through the gross sounds—through the coarse humming and the hissing whispers.
“my lord the president,” began the poor girl firmly. her next words were drowned in a volley of hisses from the women.
“ah! aristocrat, aristocrat! none of your accursed titles here!” was their shrill cry at her. she fronted that cry, she fronted the fierce gestures which accompanied it, with the steady light still in her eyes, with the strange rigidity still fastened on her face. she would have spoken again through the uproar and execration, but her brother’s voice overpowered her.
“citizen president,” he cried, “i have not concluded. i demand leave to complete my confession. i implore the tribunal to attach no importance to what my sister says. the trouble and terror of this day have shaken her intellects. she is not responsible for her words—i assert it solemnly, in the face of the whole court!”
the blood flew up into his white face as he made the asseveration. even at that supreme moment the great heart of the man reproached him for yielding himself to a deception, though the motive of it was to save his sister’s life.
“let her speak! let her speak!” exclaimed the women, as rose, without moving, without looking at her brother, without seeming even to have heard what he said, made a second attempt to address her judges, in spite of trudaine’s interposition.
“silence!” shouted the man with the bludgeon. “silence, you women! the citizen president is going to speak.”
“the prisoner trudaine has the ear of the court,” said the president, “and may continue his confession. if the female prisoner wishes to speak, she may be heard afterward. i enjoin both the accused persons to make short work of it with their addresses to me, or they will make their case worse instead of better. i command silence among the audience, and if i am not obeyed, i will clear the hall. now, prisoner trudaine, i invite you to proceed. no more about your sister; let her speak for herself. your business and ours is with the man and woman dubois. are you, or are you not, ready to tell the court who they are?”
“i repeat that i am ready,” answered trudaine. “the citizen dubois is a servant. the woman dubois is the mother of the man who denounces me—superintendent danville.”
a low, murmuring, rushing sound of hundreds of exclaiming voices, all speaking, half-suppressedly, at the same moment, followed the delivery of the answer. no officer of the court attempted to control the outburst of astonishment. the infection of it spread to the persons on the platform, to the crier himself, to the judges of the tribunal, lounging, but the moment before, so carelessly silent in their chairs. when the noise was at length quelled, it was subdued in the most instantaneous manner by one man, who shouted from the throng behind the president’s chair:
“clear the way there! superintendent danville is taken ill!”
a vehement whispering and contending of many voices interrupting each other, followed; then a swaying among the assembly of official people; then a great stillness; then the sudden appearance of danville, alone, at the table.
the look of him, as he turned his ghastly face toward the audience, silenced and steadied them in an instant, just as they were on the point of falling into fresh confusion. every one stretched forward eagerly to hear what he would say. his lips moved; but the few words that fell from them were inaudible, except to the persons who happened to be close by him. having spoken, he left the table supported by a police agent, who was seen to lead him toward the private door of the court, and, consequently, also toward the prisoners’ platform. he stopped, however, halfway, quickly turned his face from the prisoners, and pointing toward the public door at the opposite side of the hall, caused himself to be led out into the air by that direction. when he had gone the president, addressing himself partly to trudaine and partly to the audience, said:
“the citizen superintendent danville has been overcome by the heat in the court. he has retired by my desire, under the care of a police agent, to recover in the open air; pledging himself to me to come back and throw a new light on the extraordinary and suspicious statement which the prisoner has just made. until the return of citizen danville, i order the accused, trudaine, to suspend any further acknowledgment of complicity which he may have to address to me. this matter must be cleared up before other matters are entered on. meanwhile, in order that the time of the tribunal may not be wasted, i authorize the female prisoner to take this opportunity of making any statement concerning herself which she may wish to address to the judges.”
“silence him!” “remove him out of court!” “gag him!” “guillotine him!” these cries rose from the audience the moment the president had done speaking. they were all directed at trudaine, who had made a last desperate effort to persuade his sister to keep silence, and had been detected in the attempt by the spectators.
“if the prisoner speaks another word to his sister, remove him,” said the president, addressing the guard round the platform.
“good! we shall hear her at last. silence! silence!” exclaimed the women, settling themselves comfortably on their benches, and preparing to resume their work.
“rose danville, the court is waiting to hear you,” said the president, crossing his legs and leaning back luxuriously in his large armchair.
amid all the noise and confusion of the last few minutes, rose had stood ever in the same attitude, with that strangely fixed expression never altering on her face but once. when her husband made his way to the side of the table and stood there prominently alone, her lips trembled a little, and a faint shade of color passed swiftly over her cheeks. even that slight change had vanished now—she was paler, stiller, more widely altered from her former self than ever, as she faced the president and said these words:
“i wish to follow my brother’s example and make my confession, as he has made his. i would rather he had spoken for me; but he is too generous to say any words except such as he thinks may save me from sharing his punishment. i refuse to be saved, unless he is saved with me. where he goes when he leaves this place, i will go; what he suffers, i will suffer; if he is to die, i believe god will grant me the strength to die resignedly with him!”
she paused for a moment, and half turned toward trudaine—then checked herself instantly and went on: “this is what i now wish to say, as to my share in the offense charged against my brother. some time ago, he told me one day that he had seen my husband’s mother in paris, disguised as a poor woman; that he had spoken to her, and forced her to acknowledge herself. up to this time we had all felt certain that she had left france, because she held old-fashioned opinions which it is dangerous for people to hold now—had left france before we came to paris. she told my brother that she had indeed gone (with an old, tried servant of the family to help and protect her) as far as marseilles; and that, finding unforeseen difficulty there in getting further, she had taken it as a warning from providence not to desert her son, of whom she was very passionately fond, and from whom she had been most unwilling to depart. instead of waiting in exile for quieter times, she determined to go and hide herself in paris, knowing her son was going there too. she assumed the name of her old and faithful servant, who declined to the last to leave her unprotected; and she proposed to live in the strictest secrecy and retirement, watching, unknown, the career of her son, and ready at a moment’s notice to disclose herself to him, when the settlement of public affairs might reunite her safely to her beloved child. my brother thought this plan full of danger, both for herself, for her son, and for the honest old man who was risking his head for his mistress’s sake. i thought so too; and in an evil hour i said to louis: ‘will you try in secret to get my husband’s mother away, and see that her faithful servant makes her really leave france this time?’ i wrongly asked my brother to do this for a selfish reason of my own—a reason connected with my married life, which has not been a happy one. i had not succeeded in gaining my husband’s affection, and was not treated kindly by him. my brother—who has always loved me far more dearly, i am afraid, than i have ever deserved—my brother increased his kindness to me, seeing me treated unkindly by my husband. this made ill-blood between them. my thought, when i asked my brother to do for me what i have said, was, that if we two in secret saved my husband’s mother, without danger to him, from imperiling herself and her son, we should, when the time came for speaking of what we had done, appear to my husband in a new and better light. i should have shown how well i deserved his love, and louis would have shown how well he deserved his brother-in-law’s gratitude; and so we should have made home happy at last, and all three have lived together affectionately. this was my thought; and when i told it to my brother, and asked him if there would be much risk, out of his kindness and indulgence toward me, he said ‘no.’ he had so used me to accept sacrifices for my happiness that i let him endanger himself to help me in my little household plan. i repent this bitterly now; i ask his pardon with my whole heart. if he is acquitted, i will try to show myself worthier of his love. if he is found guilty, i, too, will go to the scaffold, and die with my brother, who risked his life for my sake.”
she ceased as quietly as she had begun, and turned once more to her brother.
as she looked away from the court and looked at him, a few tears came into her eyes, and something of the old softness of form and gentleness of expression seemed to return to her face. he let her take his hand, but he seemed purposely to avoid meeting the anxious gaze she fixed on him. his head sunk on his breast; he drew his breath heavily, his countenance darkened and grew distorted, as if he were suffering some sharp pang of physical pain. he bent down a little, and, leaning his elbow on the rail before him, covered his face with his hand; and so quelled the rising agony, so forced back the scalding tears to his heart. the audience had heard rose in silence, and they preserved the same tranquillity when she had done. this was a rare tribute to a prisoner from the people of the reign of terror.
the president looked round at his colleagues, and shook his head suspiciously.
“this statement of the female prisoner’s complicates the matter very seriously,” said he. “is there anybody in court,” he added, looking at the persons behind his chair, “who knows where the mother of superintendent danville and the servant are now?”
lomaque came forward at the appeal, and placed himself by the table.
“why, citizen agent!” continued the president, looking hard at him, “are you overcome by the heat, too?”
“the fit seemed to take him, citizen president, when the female prisoner had made an end of her statement,” exclaimed magloire, pressing forward officiously.
lomaque gave his subordinate a look which sent the man back directly to the shelter of the official group; then said, in lower tones than were customary with him:
“i have received information relative to the mother of superintendent danville and the servant, and am ready to answer any questions that may be put to me.”
“where are they now?” asked the president.
“she and the servant are known to have crossed the frontier, and are supposed to be on their way to cologne. but, since they have entered germany, their whereabouts is necessarily a matter of uncertainty to the republican authorities.”
“have you any information relative to the conduct of the old servant while he was in paris?”
“i have information enough to prove that he was not an object for political suspicion. he seems to have been simply animated by servile zeal for the woman’s interests; to have performed for her all the menial offices of a servant in private; and to have misled the neighbors by affected equality with her in public.”
“have you any reason to believe that superintendent danville was privy to his mother’s first attempt at escaping from france?”
“i infer it from what the female prisoner has said, and for other reasons which it would be irregular to detail before the tribunal. the proofs can no doubt be obtained if i am allowed time to communicate with the authorities at lyons and marseilles.”
at this moment danville re-entered the court; and, advancing to the table, placed himself close by the chief agent’s side. they looked each other steadily in the face for an instant.
“he has recovered from the shock of trudaine’s answer,” thought lomaque, retiring. “his hand trembles, his face is pale, but i can see regained self-possession in his eye, and i dread the consequences already.”
“citizen president,” began danville, “i demand to know if anything has transpired affecting my honor and patriotism in my absence?”
he spoke apparently with the most perfect calmness, but he looked nobody in the face. his eyes were fixed steadily on the green baize of the table beneath him.
“the female prisoner has made a statement, referring principally to herself and her brother,” answered the president, “but incidentally mentioning a previous attempt on your mother’s part to break existing laws by emigrating from france. this portion of the confession contains in it some elements of suspicion which seriously affect you—”
“they shall be suspicions no longer—at my own peril i will change them to certainties!” exclaimed danville, extending his arm theatrically, and looking up for the first time. “citizen president, i avow it with the fearless frankness of a good patriot; i was privy to my mother’s first attempt at escaping from france.”
hisses and cries of execration followed this confession. he winced under them at first; but recovered his self-possession before silence was restored.
“citizens, you have heard the confession of my fault,” he resumed, turning with desperate assurance toward the audience; “now hear the atonement i have made for it at the altar of my country.”
he waited at the end of that sentence, until the secretary to the tribunal had done writing it down in the report book of the court.
“transcribe faithfully to the letter!” cried danville, pointing solemnly to the open page of the volume. “life and death hang on my words.”
the secretary took a fresh dip of ink, and nodded to show that he was ready. danville went on:
“in these times of glory and trial for france,” he proceeded, pitching his voice to a tone of deep emotion, “what are all good citizens most sacredly bound to do? to immolate their dearest private affections and interests before their public duties! on the first attempt of my mother to violate the laws against emigration, by escaping from france, i failed in making the heroic sacrifice which inexorable patriotism demanded of me. my situation was more terrible than the situation of brutus sitting in judgment on his own sons. i had not the roman fortitude to rise equal to it. i erred, citizens—erred as coriolanus did, when his august mother pleaded with him for the safety of rome! for that error i deserved to be purged out of the republican community; but i escaped my merited punishment—nay, i even rose to the honor of holding an office under the government. time passed; and again my mother attempted an escape from france. again, inevitable fate brought my civic virtue to the test. how did i meet this second supremest trial? by an atonement for past weakness, terrible as the trial itself. citizens, you will shudder; but you will applaud while you tremble. citizens, look! and while you look, remember well the evidence given at the opening of this case. yonder stands the enemy of his country, who intrigued to help my mother to escape; here stands the patriot son, whose voice was the first, the only voice, to denounce him for the crime!” as he spoke, he pointed to trudaine, then struck himself on the breast, then folded his arms, and looked sternly at the benches occupied by the spectators.
“do you assert,” exclaimed the president, “that at the time when you denounced trudaine, you knew him to be intriguing to aid your mother’s escape?”
“i assert it,” answered danville.
the pen which the president held dropped from his hand at that reply; his colleagues started, and looked at each other in blank silence.
a murmur of “monster! monster!” began with the prisoners on the platform, and spread instantly to the audience, who echoed and echoed it again; the fiercest woman-republican on the benches joined cause at last with the haughtiest woman-aristocrat on the platform. even in that sphere of direst discords, in that age of sharpest enmities, the one touch of nature preserved its old eternal virtue, and roused the mother-instinct which makes the whole world kin.
of the few persons in the court who at once foresaw the effect of danville’s answer on the proceedings of the tribunal, lomaque was one. his sallow face whitened as he looked toward the prisoners’ platform.
“they are lost,” he murmured to himself, moving out of the group in which he had hitherto stood. “lost! the lie which has saved that villain’s head leaves them without the shadow of a hope. no need to stop for the sentence—danville’s infamous presence of mind has given them up to the guillotine!” pronouncing these words, he went out hurriedly by a door near the platform, which led to the prisoners’ waiting-room.
rose’s head sank again on her brother’s shoulder. she shuddered, and leaned back faintly on the arm which he extended to support her. one of the female prisoners tried to help trudaine in speaking consolingly to her; but the consummation of her husband’s perfidy seemed to have paralyzed her at heart. she murmured once in her brother’s ear, “louis! i am resigned to die—nothing but death is left for me after the degradation of having loved that man.” she said those words and closed her eyes wearily, and spoke no more.
“one other question, and you may retire,” resumed the president, addressing danville. “were you cognizant of your wife’s connection with her brother’s conspiracy?”
danville reflected for a moment, remembered that there were witnesses in court who could speak to his language and behavior on the evening of his wife’s arrest, and resolved this time to tell the truth.
“i was not aware of it,” he answered. “testimony in my favor can be called which will prove that when my wife’s complicity was discovered i was absent from paris.”
heartlessly self-possessed as he was, the public reception of his last reply had shaken his nerve. he now spoke in low tones, turning his back on the spectators, and fixing his eyes again on the green baize of the table at which he stood.
“prisoners, have you any objection to make, any evidence to call, invalidating the statement by which citizen danville has cleared himself of suspicion?” inquired the president.
“he has cleared himself by the most execrable of all falsehoods,” answered trudaine. “if his mother could be traced and brought here, her testimony would prove it.”
“can you produce any other evidence in support of your allegation?” asked the president.
“i cannot.”
“citizen superintendent danville, you are at liberty to retire. your statement will be laid before the authority to whom you are officially responsible. either you merit a civic crown for more than roman virtue, or—” having got thus far, the president stopped abruptly, as if unwilling to commit himself too soon to an opinion, and merely repeated, “you may retire.”
danville left the court immediately, going out again by the public door. he was followed by murmurs from the women’s benches, which soon ceased, however, when the president was observed to close his note-book, and turn round toward his colleagues. “the sentence!” was the general whisper now. “hush, hush—the sentence!”
after a consultation of a few minutes with the persons behind him, the president rose, and spoke the momentous words:
“louis trudaine and rose danville, the revolutionary tribunal, having heard the charge against you, and having weighed the value of what you have said in answer to it, decides that you are both guilty, and condemns you to the penalty of death.”
having delivered the sentence in those terms, he sat down again, and placed a mark against the two first condemned names on the list of prisoners. immediately afterward the next case was called on, and the curiosity of the audience was stimulated by a new trial.
