A sickly chill passed over my frame; I leaned against the wall to avoid falling.
“Counsel, have you anything to say why this sentence should not be passed?” demanded the President.
I felt that I had much to urge, but I had not the power,—my tongue was cleaving to my mouth.
My counsel then rose. His endeavour appeared to be, to mitigate the verdict of the Jury, and to substitute the punishment of hard labour for life,—by naming which he had rendered me so indignant! This indignation must again have been powerful within me to conquer the thousand emotions which distracted my thoughts. I wished to repeat aloud what I had already said to him, but my breath failed, and I could only grasp him by the arm, crying with convulsive strength, “No!”
The Attorney-General replied against my counsel’s arguments, and I listened to him with a stupid satisfaction. The Judges then left the Court; soon returned, and the President read my sentence.
“Condemned to death!” cried the crowd; and as I was led away the assembly pressed on my steps with avidity, while I walked on, confused, and nearly in unconsciousness. A revolution had taken place within me. Until that sentence of Death I had felt myself breathe, palpitate, exist, like other beings. Now I felt clearly that a barrier existed between me and the world. Nothing appeared to me under the same aspect as hitherto. Those large and luminous windows, that fair sunshine, that pure sky,—all was pale and ghastly, the colour of a winding sheet. Those men, women, and children who pressed on my path seemed to me like phantoms.
At the foot of the stairs a black and dirty prison-cart was waiting; as I entered it, I looked by chance around.
“The Condemned Prisoner!” shouted the people, running towards the cart.
Through the cloud which seemed to me to interpose between me and all things, I distinguished two young girls who gazed at me with eager eyes.
“Well,” said the youngest, clapping her hands, “it will take place in six weeks.”