the
various phases of the man hunt in the Bois de Boulogne. In Mondesir
centred all the gaiety of the proceedings, thanks to the guardroom
sallies with which he enlivened his narrative. And in like way the
greatest grief, a perfect shudder of revolt and compassion, was roused by
the errand girl's grandmother, a poor, bent, withered old woman, whom the
prosecution had cruelly constrained to attend the court, and who wept and
looked quite dismayed, unable as she was to understand what was wanted of
her. When she had withdrawn, the only remaining witnesses were those for
the defence, a procession of foremen and comrades, who all declared that
they had known Salvat as a very worthy fellow, an intelligent and zealous
workman, who did not drink, but was extremely fond of his daughter, and
incapable of an act of dishonesty or cruelty.

It was already four o'clock when the evidence of the witnesses came to an
end. The atmosphere in court was now quite stifling, feverish fatigue
flushed every face, and a kind of ruddy dust obscured the waning light
which fell from the windows. Women were fanning themselves and men were
mopping their foreheads. However, the passion roused by the scene still
brought a glow of cruel delight to every eye. And no one stirred.

"Ah!" sighed Rosemonde all at once, "to think that I hoped to drink a cup
of tea at a friend's at five o'clock. I shall die of thirst and
starvation here."

"We shall certainly be kept till seven," replied Massot. "I can't offer
to go and fetch you a roll, for I shouldn't be readmitted."

Then Duthil, who had not ceased shrugging his shoulders while Salvat read
his declaration, exclaimed: "What childish things he said, didn't he? And
to think that the fool is going to die for all that! Rich and poor,
indeed! Why, there will always be rich and poor. And it's equally certain
that when a man is poor his one great desire is to become rich. If that
fellow is in the dock to-day it's simply because he failed to make
money."

While the others were thus conversing, Pierre for his part was feeling
extremely anxious about his brother, who sat beside him in silence, pale
and utterly upset. Pierre sought his hand and covertly pressed it. Then
in a low voice he inquired: "Do you feel ill? Shall we go away?"

Guillaume answered him by discreetly and affectionately returning his
handshake. He was all right, he would remain till the end, however much
he might be stirred by exasperation.