Indignation and pity were at their height when the strain which
held them all in one common leash was loosed by the movement of a
little child.

Attracted possibly by what it did not understand, or simply made
fearless because of its non-comprehension of the mystery before
him, a curly-haired boy suddenly escaped its mother's clutch, and,
toddling up by a pathway of his own to the awesome form in the
great chair, laid his little hand on the judge's rigid arm and,
looking up into his face, babbled out:

"Why don't you get up, man? I like oo better up."

A breathless moment; then the horrified murmur rose here, there
and everywhere: "He's dead! He's dead!" and the mother, with a
rush, caught the child back, and confusion began its reign, when
quietly and convincingly a bluff and masculine voice spoke from
the doorway behind them and they heard:

"You needn't be frightened. In an hour or a half-hour he will be
the same as ever. My aunt has such attacks. They call it
catalepsy."




III

BELA THE REDOUBTABLE