“These gloomy doctrines, now applauded in public meetings, have ruined this man. He has heard republicans—even women, yes, women—ask for the blood of M. Gambetta, the blood of M. Grevy; his weakened mind gave way; he wanted blood, the blood of a bourgeois!
“It is not he whom you should condemn, gentlemen; it is the Commune!”
Everywhere could be heard murmurs of assent. Everyone felt that the lawyer had won his case. The prosecuting attorney did not oppose him.
Then the presiding judge asked the accused the customary question:
“Prisoner, is there anything that you wish to add to your defense?”
The man stood up.
He was a short, flaxen blond, with calm, clear, gray eyes. A strong, frank, sonorous voice came from this frail-looking boy and, at the first words, quickly changed the opinion which had been formed of him.
He spoke loud in a declamatory manner, but so distinctly that every word could be understood in the farthest corners of the big hall:
“Your honor, as I do not wish to go to an insane asylum, and as I even prefer death to that, I will tell everything.
“I killed this man and this woman because they were my parents.