A voice—a name lately uttered, still rang confusedly in his memory. What did it signify? He caught at his reeling faculties.
“Behold, citizeness, the man!”
All in an instant, it seemed, the room sank into profound stillness. He struck the film from his eyes, and saw St Denys.
The wretched creature stood before the table, between guards. He appeared utterly amazed and demoralised. Even in the moment of terror, Ned shrunk to see how the brute had come to predominate in that handsome debauched face.
Then, suddenly, the harsh voice of the president shattered the silence.
“Your name—your profession?”
“St Denys, by principle and practice a demagogue,” faltered the prisoner.
“Dost know of what thou art accused?”
“I am innocent, M. le président—before God, I am innocent!”
Something white moved forward—struck him on the shoulder.