"Who killed?" said Sarah, in a panting voice, sinking her gaze in the face of Mefres. "Who killed, dost Thou ask? I know you, ye priests! I know your justice."
"Then who killed?" insisted Mefres.
"I!" cried Sarah, in an unearthly voice. "I killed my child, because ye made him a Jew."
"That is false!" hissed the high priest.
"I, I!" repeated Sarah. "Hei, Ye people who see me and hear me," she turned to the witnesses, "ye know that I killed him I I I!" cried she, beating her breast.
At such an explicit accusation of herself the nomarch recovered, and looked with compassion on Sarah; the women sobbed, the doorkeeper wiped away tears. But the holy Mefres closed his blue lips firmly. At last he said, with emphatic voice, while looking at the police official,
"Servants of his holiness, I surrender this woman, whom ye are to conduct to the edifice of justice."
"But my son with me!" interrupted Sarah, rushing to the cradle.
"With thee, with thee, poor woman," said the nomarch; and he covered his face.
The dignitaries went out of the chamber. The police officer had a litter brought, and with marks of the highest respect conducted Sarah down to it. The unfortunate woman seized a blood-stained bundle from the cradle, and took a seat, without resistance, in the litter.