s true, then what is
the judgment? It goes against you--so there!" There was irony in the
last words.

"If what thing is true?" sharply asked the mastercarpenter, catching at
the fringe of the idea in M. Fille's mind. "What thing?"

"Ah, but it is true, for I saw it! Yes, alas! I saw it with my own
eyes. By accident of course; but there it was--absolute, uncompromising,
deadly and complete."

It was a happy moment for the little Clerk of the Court when he could,
in such an impromptu way, coin a phrase, or a set of adjectives, which
would bear inspection of purists of the language. He loved to
talk, though he did not talk a great deal, but he made innumerable
conversations in his mind, and that gave him facility when he did
speak. He had made conversations with George Masson in his mind since
yesterday, when he gave his promise to Judge Carcasson; but none of
them was like the real conversation now taking place. It was all
the impression of the moment, while the phrases in his mind had been
wonderfully logical things which, from an intellectual standpoint, would
have delighted the man whose cause he was now engaged in defending.

"You saw what, M'sieu' la Fillette? Out with it, and don't use such big
adjectives. I'm only a carpenter. 'Absolute, uncompromising, deadly,
complete'--that's a mouthful of grammar, my lords! Come, my sprig of
jurisprudence, tell us what you saw." There was an apparent nervousness
in Masson's manner now. Indeed he showed more agitation than when, a few
hours before, Jean Jacques had stood with his hand on the lever of the
gates of the flume, and the life of the master-carpenter at his feet, to
be kicked into eternity.

"Four days ago at five o'clock in the afternoon"--in a voice formal and
exact, the little Clerk of the Court seemed to be reading from a paper,
since he kept his eyes fixed on the blotter before him, as he did in
Court--"I was coming down the hill behind the Manor Cartier, when my
attention--by accident--was drawn to a scene below me in the Manor. I
stopped short, of course, and--"

"Diable! You stopped short 'of course' before what you saw! Spit it
out--what did you see?" George Masson had had a trying day, and there
was danger of losing control of himself. There was a whiteness growing
round the eyes, and eating up the warmth of the cheek; his admirably
smooth brow was contracted into heavy wrinkles, and a foot shifted
uneasily on the floor with a scraping sole. This drew