“Did you kill the inspector of the prison workshops at Clairvaux?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Why did you do so?”
“Because I did.”
Claude’s wounds now assumed a more serious aspect, and he was prostrated with fever which threatened his life. November, December, January, February passed, in nursing and preparations, and Claude in turn was visited by doctor and judge—the one to restore him to health, the other to glean the foundation for his scaffold.
On the 16th of March, 1832, perfectly cured, Claude appeared in court at Troyes, to answer the charge brought against him.
His appearance impressed the court favourably; he had been shaved and stood bareheaded, but still clad in prison garb.
The court was well guarded by a strong military guard, to keep the witnesses within bounds, as they were all convicts. But an unexpected difficulty occurred: not one of these men would give evidence; neither questions nor threats availed to make them break their silence, until Claude requested them to do so. Then they in turn gave a faithful account of the terrible event, and if one, from forgetfulness or affection for the accused, failed to relate the whole facts, Claude supplied the deficiency.
At one time the women’s tears fell fast. The usher now called the convict Albin. He came in trembling with emotion and sobbing painfully, and threw himself into Claude’s arms.
Turning to the Public Prosecutor, Claude said—