shade. This contrast seemed symbolical of justice, impersonal and
uncertain, face to face with the accused, whom the light stripped bare,
probed as it were to his very soul. Then, through a kind of grey mist
above the bench, in the depths of the stern and gloomy scene, one could
vaguely distinguish the heavy painting of "Christ Crucified." A white
bust of the Republic alone showed forth clearly against the dark wall
above the dock where Salvat would presently appear. The only remaining
seats that Guillaume and Pierre could find were on the last bench of the
witnesses' compartment, against the partition which separated the latter
from the space allotted to the standing public. Just as Guillaume was
seating himself, he saw among the latter little Victor Mathis, who stood
there with his elbows leaning on the partition, while his chin rested on
his crossed hands. The young man's eyes were glowing in his pale face
with thin, compressed lips. Although they recognised one another, Victor
did not move, and Guillaume on his side understood that it was not safe
to exchange greetings in such a place. From that moment, however, he
remained conscious that Victor was there, just above him, never stirring,
but waiting silently, fiercely and with flaming eyes, for what was going
to happen.

Pierre, meantime, had recognised that most amiable deputy Duthil, and
little Princess Rosemonde, seated just in front of him. Amidst the hubbub
of the throng which chatted and laughed to while away the time, their
voices were the gayest to be heard, and plainly showed how delighted they
were to find themselves at a spectacle to which so many desired
admittance. Duthil was explaining all the arrangements to Rosemonde,
telling her to whom or to what purpose each bench and wooden box was
allotted: there was the jury-box, the prisoner's dock, the seats assigned
to counsel for the defence, the public prosecutor, and the clerk of the
court, without forgetting the table on which material evidence was