the other. It was
from this apartment that Joam Dacosta, on this 25th of August, about
eleven o'clock in the morning, was taken and brought into the judge's
room, which was the old common hall of the convent.

Judge Jarriquez was there in front of his desk, perched on his high
chair, his back turned toward the window, so that his face was in shadow
while that of the accused remained in full daylight. His clerk, with the
indifference which characterizes these legal folks, had taken his seat
at the end of the table, his pen behind his ear, ready to record the
questions and answers.

Joam Dacosta was introduced into the room, and at a sign from the judge
the guards who had brought him withdrew.

Judge Jarriquez looked at the accused for some time. The latter, leaning
slightly forward and maintaining a becoming attitude, neither careless
nor humble, waited with dignity for the questions to which he was
expected to reply.

"Your name?" said Judge Jarriquez.

"Joam Dacosta."

"Your age?"

"Fifty-two."

"Where do you live?"

"In Peru, at the village of Iquitos."

"Under what name?"

"Under that of Garral, which is that of my mother."

"And why do you bear that name?"

"Because for twenty-three years I wished to hide myself from the pursuit
of Brazilian justice."

The answers were so exact, and seemed to show that Joam Dacosta had made
up his mind to confess everything concerning his past and present life,
that Judge Jarriquez, little accustomed to such a course, cocked up his
nose more than was usual to him.

"And why," he continued, "should Brazilian justice pursue you?"

"Because I was sentenced to death in 1826 in the diamond affair at
Tijuco."

"You confess then that you are Joam Dacosta?"

"I am Joam Dacosta."

All this was said with great calmness, and as simply as possible. The
little eyes of Judge Jarriquez, hidden by their lids, seemed to say:

"Never came across anything like this before."

He had put the invariable question which had hitherto brought the
invariable reply from culprits of every category protesting their
innocence. The fingers of the judge began to beat a gentle tattoo on the
table.

"Joam Dacosta," he asked, "what were you doing at Iquitos?"

"I was a fazender, and engaged in managing a farming establishment of
considerable size."

"It was prospering?"

"Greatly prospering."

"How long ago did you leave your fazenda?"

"About nine weeks."

"Why?"

"As to th