When one officer grew tired, he rested. Then the next one took up
the attack, and then he rested. But not one moment's respite for
me. I don't know what they call it in German, but it was the third
degree with a vengeance. Under this sweating process my nerves
were being torn to tatters. I felt like screaming and it seemed that if
this continued I would smash an officer with a chair and put an end
to it all. But the fact that I am writing these lines shows that I didn't.
Human nature is so constituted that it can always endure a little
more, and though they kept the tension high for many minutes I
did not buckle under the strain. However, I couldn't call up any
arguments to show the utter absurdity of the charge against me.
And my defense was very feeble.

The onslaught now ceased as suddenly as it had begun. There
was a coming and going of officers and some consultation in an
undertone. The judge left the room and the impassive-faced
Javert began that machine-like writing. After a while he stopped.

"Will you give me some idea of what you expect to do with me?" I
queried.

"A full report of your case goes up to the General for decision and
sentence," was his response.

My spirits took a downward plunge. Then a fierce resentment
amounting almost to rage came surging up within me. Masking it
as well as I could, I asked permission to send word to the
American authorities. Javert's reply was evasive.

"I have had nothing to eat all day," I announced. "Can't you do