“I am ready. A score of people were present. You hear how he talks now?”
“True—true!” answered the President of the court. “Bring him before us! His being a stranger shan’t shield him. It’s not a time to be nice about nationalities. English or American, such a tongue must be made silent. Comrades!” continued he in a low tone to the other members, “this fellow has been witness to—you understand? He must be tried; and if Virocq’s charges are sufficient, should be silenced. You understand?”
A grim assent was given by the others, who knew they were but mocking justice. For that they had been specially selected—above all, their president, who was the notorious Colonel Gardotte.
Inside his cell Maynard could hear but little of what was said. The turbulence was still continued in the streets outside—the fusillade, and the firing of cannon. Other prisoners were being brought into the courtyard, that echoed the tread of troops and the clanking of steel scabbards. There was noise everywhere.
Withal, a word or two coming through the keyhole sounded ominous in his ears. He had seen the ruffian Virocq, and knew that beside such a man there must be danger.
Still he had no dread of being submitted to any very severe punishment—much less a trial for his life. He supposed he would be kept in prison till the émeute had passed over, and then examined for an act he was prepared to justify, and for which military men could not otherwise than acquit him. He was only chafing at the outrage he had endured, and the detention he was enduring. He little knew the nature of that émeute, nor its design.
In his experience of honest soldiery, he was incapable of comprehending the character of the Franco-Algerine brigands into whose hands he had fallen.
He had been startled by the assassination—for he could call it by no other name—of his fellow-prisoner. Still the latter had stood in a certain relationship to the men who had murdered him that could not apply to himself. Moreover, he was a stranger, and not answerable to them for his political leanings. He should appeal to his own country’s flag for protection.
It did not occur to him that, in the midst of a revolution, and among such reckless executioners, no flag might be regarded.
He had but little time to reflect thus. While he was yet burning with indignation at the atrocious tragedy just enacted, the door of his cell was once more flung open, and he was dragged out into the presence of the court.