“Yes.”
“You confess to having adored the heads of Bophomet, those abominable idols of the Templars?”
“Yes.”
“To having had habitual dealings with the devil under the form of a goat familiar, joined with you in the suit?”
“Yes.”
“Lastly, you avow and confess to having, with the aid of the demon, and of the phantom vulgarly known as the surly monk, on the night of the twenty-ninth of March last, murdered and assassinated a captain named Phœbus de Châteaupers?”
She raised her large, staring eyes to the magistrate, and replied, as though mechanically, without convulsion or agitation,—
“Yes.”
It was evident that everything within her was broken.
“Write, clerk,” said Charmolue. And, addressing the torturers, “Release the prisoner, and take her back to the court.”