"The infamy with which you would brand me does but dishonor you," exclaimed the prisoner. "My hands have never committed any but noble deeds, and do not deserve to be severed from the arms which guided them. But invent whatever torments you please, torture me as you will, I shall remain a prince, and you sink to the rank of on executioner. I fought with all my strength against the enemies of our legitimate lord; you betrayed him for another, who betrayed him too, and you craftily attacked my kingdom when there was no ground for war between us. You wanted my head to sell it to Hieyas for a good price; the dishonor is yours. What do I care for your ridiculous sentence!"
"Who is this man who speaks so boldly?" thought Fatkoura.
The Samurais approved the prisoner's words; they declared their dissatisfaction to the Prince of Tosa.
"Do not refuse him the death of a noble," they said; "he has done nothing to merit such severity."
Tosa's soul was filled with rage.
"My vengeance is not sufficient," said he, gnashing his teeth; "I wish I could think of something still more dreadful."
"But you can think of nothing," said the prisoner, laughing; "you always lacked imagination. Do you recollect, when you followed me in the merry pranks which I invented? You never could originate anything; but your brain next day would rehearse our inventions of the day before."
"Enough!" shouted Tosa; "I will tear off your flesh with pincers, and pour boiling pitch into your wounds."
"That is only an improvement on the moxas invented by physicians. Try again; that's a trifle."
"I cannot explain that man's heroic conduct," thought Fatkoura; "he knows that he is taken for another, and he carries on an imposture which leads him to a sure and frightful death."