The crowd of soldiers parted; they formed a long passage; and by the light of the moon and the torches I saw Victoria, clad in her long black robe and her little grandson in her arms, advancing slowly. She doubtlessly hoped to soothe the exasperation of the soldiers by presenting the innocent creature to their sight. Tetrik, Captain Marion and several other officers, who had notified Victoria of the tumult and its cause, followed behind her. They seemed to succeed in calming the seething fury of the troops. The silence grew solemn. The Mother of the Camps was only a few steps from my house when Douarnek approached her, and bending his knee said:
"Mother, your son has committed a great crime—we pity you from the bottom of our hearts. But you will see to it that justice is rendered us—we demand justice—"
"Yes, yes, justice!" cried the soldiers, whose irritation, after being checked for a moment, now broke out with renewed violence. The cry broke forth from all parts: "Justice! Or we will do justice ourselves!"
"Death to the infamous wretch!"
"Death to the man who dishonored his friend's wife!"
"Cursed be the name of Victorin!"
"Yes, cursed—cursed!" repeated a thousand threatening voices. "Cursed be his name forever!"
Pale, calm and imposing, Victoria stopped for a moment before Douarnek, who bent his knee as he addressed her. But when the cries of: "Death to Victorin!" "Cursed be his name!" exploded anew, my foster-sister, whose virile and beautiful countenance betrayed mortal anguish, stretched out her arms with the little child in them, as if the innocent creature implored mercy for its father.
It was then that the cries broke forth with fiercest violence:
"Death to Victorin! Cursed be his name!"