ead the letter which had been found on Edmee.

It was, indeed, the one I had written to her only a few days before the
fatal day. They handed it to me; I could not help pressing my lips to
the stains of Edmee's blood. Then, after glancing at the writing, I
returned the letter, and declared quite calmly that it was written by
me.

The reading of this letter was my _coup de grace_. Fate, who seems
ingenious in injuring her victims, had obtained (and perhaps some famous
hand had contributed to the mutilation) that the passages expressing my
obedience and respect should be destroyed. Certain poetic touches which
might have furnished an explanation of, and an excuse for, my wild
ramblings, were illegible. What showed plain to every eye, and carried
conviction to every mind, were the lines that remained intact, the lines
that bore witness to the violence of my passion and the vehemence of my
frenzy. They were such phrases as these: "Sometimes I feel inclined to
rise in the middle of the night and go and kill you! I should have done
this a hundred times, if I had been sure that I should love you no
more after your death. Be considerate; for there are two men in me, and
sometimes the brigand of old lords it over the new man, etc." A smile of
triumph played about my enemies' mouths. My supporters were demoralized,
and even my poor sergeant looked at me in despair. The public had
already condemned me.

This incident afforded the King's advocate a fine chance of thundering
forth a pompous address, in which he described me as an incurable
blackguard, as an accursed branch of an accursed stock, as an example of
the fatality of evil instincts. Then, after exerting himself to hold
me up as an object of horror and fear, he endeavoured, in order to give
himself an air of impartiality and generosity, to arouse the compassion
of the judges in my favour; he proceeded to show that I was not
responsible for my actions; that my mind had been perverted in early
childhood by foul sights and vile principles, and was not sound, nor
ever could have been, whatever the origin and growth of my passions. At
last, after going through a course of philosophy and rhetoric, to the
great delight of the audience, he demanded that I should be condemned to
privation of civil rights and imprisonment for life.

Though my counsel was a man of spirit and intelligence, the letter
had so taken him by surprise, the people in court were so unfavourably
disposed to