"Ah! General, such knowledge will make my death the easier."
"Then there was the man you fired at in your stupid jealousy."
"Then he did not die after all?" exclaimed the youth joyfully. "It does me good to hear that."
"That's all one so far as you are concerned. You have in any case committed a capital offence."
"But my heart is the easier, nevertheless. A load has been removed from it. I thank you. What you have said will shorten my last moments."
"Your third advocate was your father."
"What?" stammered the youth with trembling lips—"my father, did you say?—my own father?"
"Your own dear father. He wrote to me with those trembling hands of his, those hands which have barely recovered from a paralytic stroke. He wrote to me himself—do you realise what that means?"
"He wrote on my account!" whispered the condemned man, clasping his manacled hands together and closing his heavy eyelashes over his moist eyes.
"Your fourth advocate was Count Kamienszki, whose sister you will doubtless remember."