After that his hand drooped, his eyes languished, his face became ever more and more yellow.
Once again he raised his eyes.
They met Lorand's gaze.
He wished to smile: in a whisper, straining desperately he said:
"Immediately now ... I shall know—what is—in the foggy spots of the Northern Dog-star:—and in the eyeless worm's——entrails."
Then, suddenly, with a forced final spasmodic effort, he seized the arms of his chair, and rose, lifted up his right arm, and turned to the magistrate.
"Sir," he cried in a strong full-toned voice, "I have appealed."
He fell back in the arm-chair.
Some minutes later every wrinkle disappeared from his face, it became as smooth as marble, and calm, as those of dead persons are wont to be.
Lorand was standing there with clasped hands between his two dear dead ones.