"That I have countersigned it, and have ordered its execution; that it was I who had that placard written, to which my name is affixed."
"Choose your defender."
"I will defend myself."
"You may speak."
Cimourdain had become impassible. Only his impassibility was more like the calmness of a rock than that of a man.
For a moment Gauvain remained silent and thoughtful.
Cimourdain continued:—
"What have you to say in your defence?"
Gauvain slowly raised his head, and without looking at any one, replied:—
"This: one thing has prevented me from seeing another. A good deed, viewed too near at hand, hid from my sight hundreds of criminal actions; on the one side, an aged man, on the other, children,—all this interfered between me and my duty. I forgot the burning villages, the ravaged fields, the massacred prisoners, the wounded cruelly put to death, the women shot; I forgot France betrayed to England: I have set at liberty the country's murderer. I am guilty. When I speak thus I seem to speak against myself, but it is not so; I am speaking in my own behalf. When he who is guilty acknowledges his fault, he saves the only thing worth saving—honor."