, while the clerk of the
court read the verdict to him.

When silence fell and no mention was made of extenuating circumstances,
he understood everything. His face, which had retained a childish
expression, suddenly brightened. "That means death. Thank you,
gentlemen," he said.

Then he turned towards the public, and amidst the growing darkness
searched for the friendly faces which he knew were there; and this time
Guillaume became fully conscious that he had recognised him, and was
again expressing affectionate and grateful thanks for the crust he had
received from him on a day of want. He must have also bidden farewell to
Victor Mathis, for as Guillaume glanced at the young man, who had not
moved, he saw that his eyes were staring wildly, and that a terrible
expression rested on his lips.

As for the rest of the proceedings, the last questions addressed to the
jury and the counsel, the deliberations of the judges and the delivery of
sentence--these were all lost amidst the buzzing and surging of the
crowd. A little compassion was unconsciously manifested; and some stupor
was mingled with the satisfaction that greeted the sentence of death.

No sooner had Salvat been condemned, however, than he drew himself up to
his full height, and as the guards led him away he shouted in a
stentorian voice: "Long live Anarchy!"

Nobody seemed angered by the cry. The crowd went off quietly, as if
weariness had lulled all its passions. The proceedings had really lasted
too long and fatigued one too much. It was quite pleasant to inhale the
fresh air on emerging from such a nightmare.

In the large waiting hall, Pierre and Guillaume passed Duthil and the
Princess, whom General de Bozonnet had stopped while chatting with
Fonsegue. All four of them were talking in very loud voices, complaining
of the heat and their hunger, and agreeing that the affair had not been a
particularly interesting one. Yet, all was well that ended well. As
Fonsegue remarked, the condemnation of Salvat to death was a political
and social necessity.

When Pierre and Guillaume reached the Pont Neuf, the latter for a moment
rested his elbows on the parapet of the bridge. His brother, standing
beside him, also gazed at the grey waters of the Seine, which here and
there were fired by the reflections of the gas lamps. A fresh breeze
ascended from the river; it was the delightful hour when night steals
gently over resting Paris. Then, as the brothers stood ther