y were
sitting or standing about, in an irregular circle whose centre was a big
and singularly misshapen water-willow. At the base of this tree sat
Clemence, motionless and silent, a wan, sickly color in her face, and
that vacant look in her large, white-balled, brown-veined eyes, with
which hope-forsaken cowardice waits for death. Somewhat apart from the
rest, on an old cypress stump, half-stood, half-sat, in whispered
consultation, Jean-Baptiste Grandissime and Charlie Mandarin.

"_Eh bien_, old woman," said Mandarin, turning, without rising, and
speaking sharply in the negro French, "have you any reason to give why
you should not be hung to that limb over your head?"

She lifted her eyes slowly to his, and made a feeble gesture of
deprecation.

"_Mo te pas fe cette bras_, Mawse Challie--I di'n't mek dat ahm; no
'ndeed I di'n', Mawse Challie. I ain' wuth hangin', gen'lemen; you'd
oughteh jis gimme fawty an' lemme go. I--I--I--I di'n' 'ten' no hawm to
Mawse-Agricole; I wa'n't gwan to hu't nobody in God's worl'; 'ndeed I
wasn'. I done tote dat old case-knife fo' twenty year'--_mo po'te ca
dipi vingt ans_. I'm a po' ole _marchande des calas; mo courri_ 'mongs'
de sojer boys to sell my cakes, you know, and da's de onyest reason why
I cyah dat ah ole fool knife." She seemed to take some hope from the
silence with which they heard her. Her eye brightened and her voice took
a tone of excitement. "You'd oughteh tek me and put me in calaboose, an'
let de law tek 'is co'se. You's all nice gen'lemen--werry nice
gen'lemen, an' you sorter owes it to yo'sev's fo' to not do no sich
nasty wuck as hangin' a po' ole nigga wench; 'deed you does. 'Tain' no
use to hang me; you gwan to kyetch Palmyre yit; _li courri dans marais;_
she is in de swamp yeh, sum'ers; but as concernin' me, you'd oughteh jis
gimme fawty an lemme go. You mus'n't b'lieve all dis-yeh nonsense 'bout
insurrectionin'; all fool-nigga talk. W'at we want to be insurrectionin'
faw? We de happies' people in de God's worl'!" She gave a start, and
cast a furtive glance of alarm behind her. "Yes, we is; you jis' oughteh
gimme fawty an' lemme go! Please, gen'lemen! God'll be good to you, you
nice, sweet gen'lemen!"

Charlie Mandarin made a sign to one who stood at her back, who responded
by dropping a rawhide noose over her head. She bounded up with a cry of
terror; it may be that she had all along hoped that all was
make-believe. She caught the noose wildly with both hands