to you, monsieur"--he was addressing, in French, the
American Justice--"that we should put our prisoners into an iron cage,
as beasts are exhibited in a circus. You are shocked at that. It strikes
you as the crudity of a race not quite civilized.

"You inquire about it with perfect courtesy; but, monsieur, you inquire
as one inquires about a custom that his sense of justice rejects."

He paused.

"Your pardon, monsieur; but there are some conceptions of justice in the
law of your admirable country that seem equally strange to me."

The men about the Count on the exquisite terrace, looking down over
Cannes into the arc of the sea, felt that the great age of this man gave
him a right of frankness, a privilege of direct expression, they
could not resent. Somehow, at the extremity of life, he seemed beyond
pretenses; and he had the right to omit the digressions by which younger
men are accustomed to approach the truth.

"What is this strange thing in our law, Count?" said the American.

The old man made a vague gesture, as one who puts away an inquiry until
the answer appears.

"Many years ago," he continued, "I read a story about the red Indians by
your author, Cooper. It was named 'The Oak Openings,' and was included,
I think, in a volume entitled Stories of the Prairie. I believe I have
the names quite right, since the author impressed me as an inferior
comer with an abundance of gold about him. In the story Corporal Flint
was captured by the Indians under the leadership of Bough of Oak, a
cruel and bloodthirsty savage.

"This hideous beast determined to put his prisoner to the torture of the
saplings, a barbarity rivaling the crucifixion of the Romans. Two small
trees standing near each other were selected, the tops lopped off and
the branches removed; they were bent and the tops were lashed together.
One of the victim's wrists was bound to the top of each of the young
trees; then the saplings were released and the victim, his arms wrenched
and dislocated, hung suspended in excruciating agony, like a man nailed
to a cross.

"It was fearful torture. The strain on the limbs was hideous, yet the
victim might live for days. Nothing short of crucifixion--that beauty of
the Roman law--ever equaled it."

He paused and flicked the ashes from his cigarette.

"Corporal Flint, who seemed to have a knowledge of the Indian character,
had endeavored so to anger the Indians by taunt and invective that some
brave would put