At last the great moment had come-the moment and the man. There is
nothing in life Frenchmen love better than a good speech--_un
discours_; and to have the same pitched in the dramatic key, with a
tragic result hanging on the effects of the pleading, this is the very
climax of enjoyment. To a Norman, oratory is not second, but first,
nature; all the men of this province have inherited the gift of a
facile eloquence. But this Monsieur d'Alencon, the crooked man
whispered, in hurried explanation, he was _un fameux_--even the
Paris courts had to send for him when they wanted a great orator.

The famous lawyer understood the alphabet of his calling. He knew the
value of effect. He threw himself at once into the orator's pose. His
gown took sculptural lines; his arms were waved majestically, as arms
that were conscious of having great sleeves to accentuate the lines of
gesture.

Then he began to speak. The voice was soft; at first one was chiefly
conscious of the music in its cadences. But as it warmed and grew with
the ardor of the words, the room was filled with such vibrations as
usually come only with the sounding of rich wind-instruments. With such
a voice a man could do anything. D'Alencon played with it as a man
plays with a power he has both trained and conquered. It was firmly
modulated, with no accent of sympathy when he opened his plea for his
client. It warmed slightly when he indignantly repelled the charges
brought against the latter. It took the cadence of a lover when he
pointed to the young wife's figure and asked if it were likely a
husband could be guilty of such crimes, year after year, with such a
woman as that beside him? It was tenderly explanatory as he went on
enlarging on the young wife's perfections, on her character, so well