The prisoner was admitted. He was self-possessed, grand, mysterious. He glanced round him with a air of disdain, and jeeringly bowed to the president, who regarded him with hatred. Then the president put questions to him.
The President. You are a thief, a scoundrel, an assassin! You know you committed the crime of which you are accused. You are a villain!
The Prisoner. And you—polite.
[General assent.
The President (with indignation). I will not have you say so! I tell you that I know you entered the room with the pistol. I know that you fired at the deceased. You know you did! Tell me, did you not kill the deceased?
The Prisoner. Why should I tell you? Is not your head of wood, M’sieur le Président.
[General laughter.
The President (with anger). You shall pay dearly for this! You have insulted me—you have insulted the son of my mother—and insulting her son, you have also insulted my mother!
[A deep murmur.
The Prisoner (shuddering). Oh, no! I deny it! I am not so base!