in his breast. Then he glanced down
the corridor and saw the two Bressan women leaning against the door.
Amelie had risked all to see him once more. It is true, however, that at
this last session of the court no additional witnesses were expected who
could injure the accused, and in the absence of proof it was impossible
to convict them.

The best lawyers in the department, those of Lyons and Besancon, had
been retained by the prisoners for their defence. Each had spoken in
turn, destroying bit by bit the indictment, as, in the tournaments of
the Middle Ages, a strong and dexterous knight was wont to knock off,
piece by piece, his adversary's armor. Flattering applause had followed
the more remarkable points of their arguments, in spite of the usher's
warnings and the admonitions of the judge.

Amelie, with clasped hands, was thanking God, who had so visibly
manifested Himself in the prisoners' favor. A dreadful weight was lifted
from her tortured breast. She breathed with joy, and looked through
tears of gratitude at the Christ which hung above the judge's head.

The arguments were all made, and the case about to be closed. Suddenly
an usher entered the courtroom, approached the judge, and whispered
something in his ear.

"Gentlemen," said the judge, "the court is adjourned for a time. Let the
prisoners be taken out."

There was a movement of feverish anxiety among the audience. What could
have happened? What unexpected event was about to take place? Every
one looked anxiously at his neighbor. Amelie's heart was wrung by a
presentiment. She pressed her hand to her breast; it was as though an
ice-cold iron had pierced it to the springs of life.

The gendarmes rose. The prisoners did likewise, and were then marched
back to their cells. One after the other they passed Amelie. The hands
of the lovers touched each other; those of Amelie were as cold as death.

"Whatever happens, thank you," said Charles, as he passed.

Amelie tried to answer, but the words died on her lips.

During this time the judge had risen and passed into the
council-chamber. There he found a veiled woman, who had just descended
from a carriage at the door of the courthouse, and had not spoken to any
one on her way in.

"Madame," said the judge, "I offer you many excuses for the way in which
I have brought you from Paris; but the life of a man depends upon it,
and before that consideration everything must yield."

"You have no need to exc