The alienist gave his testimony. The prisoner was mad. Clearly.
To every question he responded—I killed him.
And endlessly the court room resounded with dull, monotonous voices
Some pleading for—some against the artist.
Donna Maria was satisfied.
She would go away and Robert—well, no matter—
She hated him.
He had scorned her advances—her coquettish smiles, years ago in Rome when he was a student.
She had been unable to forget. Her pride was like an open wound.
Hale was acquitted.