nder. It was in his eyes alone that evidence of life remained, eyes
that burned intensely with ardent supplication under the ashy brow,
where the sweat of anguish stood in big drops, notwithstanding the cold.

Ducat arose and commenced his plea. "Gentlemen, my client, to tell the
truth, is the most noisome blackguard that I ever came across in my
life, and I should not have been willing to appear in his defense had I
not a mitigating circumstance to plead, to wit: they are all that way
in the country he came from. Look at him closely; you will read his
astonishment in his eyes; he does not understand the gravity of his
offense. Here in France we may employ spies, but no one would touch one
of them unless with a pair of pincers, while in that country espionage
is considered a highly honorable career and an extremely meritorious
manner of serving the state. I will even go so far as to say, gentlemen,
that possibly they are not wrong; our noble sentiments do us honor, but
they have also the disadvantage of bringing us defeat. If I may venture
to speak in the language of Cicero and Virgil, _quos vult perdere
Jupiter dementat_. You will understand the allusion, gentlemen."

And he took his seat again, while Sambuc resumed:

"And you, Cabasse, have you nothing to say either for or against the
defendant?"

"All I have to say," shouted the Provencal, "is that we are wasting a
deal of breath in settling that scoundrel's hash. I've had my little
troubles in my lifetime, and plenty of 'em, but I don't like to see
people trifle with the affairs of the law; it's unlucky. Let him die, I
say!"

Sambuc rose to his feet with an air of profound gravity.

"This you both declare to be your verdict, then--death?"

"Yes, yes! death!"

The chairs were pushed back, he advanced to the table where Goliah lay,
saying:

"You have been tried and sentenced; you are to die."

The flame of the two candles rose about their unsnuffed wicks and
flickered in the draught, casting a fitful, ghastly light on Goliah's
distorted features. The fierce efforts he made to scream for mercy,
to vociferate the words that were strangling him, were such that the
handkerchief knotted across his mouth was drenched with spume, and it
was a sight most horrible to see, that strong man reduced to silence,
voiceless already as a corpse, about to die with that torrent of excuse
and entreaty pent in his bosom.

Cabasse cocked the revolver. "Shall I let him have it?