And on the right of the judge stood a huge negro, whose giant frame was clad in a suit of sleek blue cloth, while his white cravat and his wool, also of snow-like whiteness, increased the blackness of his visage. It was, of course, old Royal. He also rested one hand on an arm of the judge's chair.
And on the right and left of Gabriel's chair, stood a muscular man, whose features were hidden by a crape mask.
The scene altogether was highly dramatic. The Borgian attire of Godlike by no means detracted from its dramatic effect.
The silence of the place,—the gloom scarcely broken by the light of the solitary candle,—the contrast between this scene and the one in which he had been an actor but a few moments previous,—all had their effect upon the mind of the statesman.
"A trap! get out of it as I may. An infernal trap!"
Without raising his head, or removing his clasped hands from his breast, the judge spoke, in an even and distinct, although hollow voice,—
"You may still refuse to be tried by this court. Consent to be exposed in your present condition to the gentlemen whom I have named, (and who may be brought hither in an instant), and the trial will not proceed."
The blood rushed to Gabriel's face, but he made no reply.
"Or, if you doubt that those gentlemen are near, it is not too late to remove your doubts."
The veins began to swell on Gabriel's forehead.