enemy, he was only my creditor. If
covetousness had misled a man otherwise decent and moderate, if it had
armed his hand, I would never, for all that, have raised it against a
defenseless old man. If you want a sacrifice, take me; I am ready, but
do not mingle my lot with that of this brood. My family, who have
always dwelt in the country, and have followed the customs and simple
ways of rural life, are disgraced. My mother weeps and is crushed.
Judge whether I, who am plunged in this sea of misfortune, can still
cherish a love of life. I loved freedom once, I loved animals, the
water, the sky, the air, and the fruits of the trees; but now I am
dishonored, and if there were a future before me it would be sullied
with shame, and the time would have an ill taste. Is it a court of
justice before which I have been summoned? No, it is a hunt, the judge
has become a hunter and prepares the innocent one to be a tidbit for
the rabble. I ask no longer for justice, it is too late to mete out
justice to me, too late, were the crown of France itself to be offered
to me. I surrender myself to you to destroy me, your conscience will be
loaded with that burden. One guilty man makes many, and your children's
children will for this flood the living world with disgrace."

A paralyzed silence succeeded these words. But suddenly there burst
forth an indescribable tumult. The public and the jurors arose and
clenched their fists at Bastide Grammont, screamed and howled in wild
confusion, Monsieur d'Enjalran's exhortation dying away unheard. And
just as suddenly a deathly silence ensued. A faint, long-drawn cry
which arose in the din, and now continued its plaintive note, petrified
the faces of the listeners. All eyes tourned toward Clarissa. She felt
the glances showering down upon her like the beams in a falling
building.

Her heart was aflame with a desire for expiation ...

The speech of the public prosecutor gathered together once more the
weapons of hatred which Rumor had forged against its victims; with
cunning skill, he painted the night of the murder in such colors that
the horror of it seemed to live for the first time, Bastide's advocate,
on the other hand, contented himself with high-sounding phrases; he
waxed warm, his listeners remained cold. While he was speaking there
was a shoving and pushing in the rear of the hall; some of the ladies
shrieked, a fair-sized dog ran through an opening in the bar, looked
around him with gl