"Back, traitor!" answers the man.
Dumiger tumbles against the wall in terror and astonishment.
"Yes, you are the traitor," continued he who acted the part of leader of the motley crowd; "you have sold your birthright—you have betrayed our interests. What punishment is fit for such a usurer?"
"Down, down with him," cried the mob.
The leaders consulted together for one moment.
"My good people," continued the same man, "we have taken counsel, and you shall redress. We will not take this man's life. This is what we decide,—We will keep the clock to be the glory of our town, but he shall never see it, neither shall he have it any more in his power to make another equal to it or better, for we will put out his eyes."
"Yes, yes," vociferated the mob, "it is excellent. Put out his eyes at once."
Before Dumiger could collect his scattered senses two strong, stalwart men had seized him. In spite of his shrieks and entreaties they threw him down on the straw; one more savage than the rest drew forth a small knife—agony on agony! horror on horror! in one moment to the living man there was Cimmerian darkness. The deed was done, and they who had done it looked on with horror and fear at their own crime. There were no shrieks to break the fearful silence: a few inarticulate sobs of heart wrung from his misery were all that was heard, and the mob withdrew silent and repentant.
Carl had followed at a distance. He had made frantic, but ineffectual efforts to enter the cell; when the crowd dispersed he went up the stairs without impediment, and there he found his friend extended. He raised him, he bore him home with those sightless, bleeding orbs. He comes, Marguerite; hasten forth to meet your husband: let the light of your love bless him, for the light of Heaven has departed forever.