The magistrate moved uneasily in his chair. He looked at the warships riding sombrely at their anchorage, he contemplated the marines drawn up at the gateway and the chained, watchful cannon. He studied thoughtfully his Vermilion Pencil. Presently he raised his hand.
“Does the Eldest Son of the Great Man Tai Lin demand death?”
There came no answer.
“Does any member of the Tai family demand her death?”
Not a sound replied but the crowd’s deep breathing and a faint wavering hum from the city.
“Does any man of the Middle Kingdom demand the cutting into pieces of this woman?”
The multitude held its breath, straining to catch the slightest sound that might be the noise of a human voice. But they heard only the running waters sobbing below their feet and the last distant echo of the day’s work.
The magistrate lay down his Vermilion Pencil and looked triumphantly at the bishop, but his implacable gaze did not alter and the smile of the magistrate was lost.
“She is free.”
“Ah!” The bishop uttered this exclamation so softly that the magistrate alone heard and he looked furtively away.