"My lord the president," began the poor girl firmly. Her next
words were drowned in a volley of hisses from the women.
"Ah! aristocrat, aristocrat! None of your accursed titles here!"
was their shrill cry at her. She fronted that cry, she fronted
the fierce gestures which accompanied it, with the steady light
still in her eyes, with the strange rigidity still fastened on
her face. She would have spoken again through the uproar and
execration, but her brother's voice overpowered her.
"Citizen president," he cried, "I have not concluded. I demand
leave to complete my confession. I implore the tribunal to
attach no importance to what my sister says. The trouble and
terror of this day have shaken her intellects. She is not
responsible for her words--I assert it solemnly, in the face of
the whole court!"
The blood flew up into his white face as he made the
asseveration. Even at that supreme moment the great heart of the
man reproached him for yielding himself to a deception, though
the motive of it was to save his sister's life.
"Let her speak! let her speak!" exclaimed the women, as Rose,
without moving, without looking at her brother, without seeming
even to have heard what he said, made a second attempt to address
her judges, in spite of Trudaine's interposition.
"Silence!" shouted the man with the bludgeon. "Silence, you
women! the citizen president is going to speak.
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