The crooked man almost stood upright in the excitement of his
enthusiasm. Great drops of sweat were on his wrinkled old brow. The
evening had been a great event in his life, as his twisted frame, all
a-tremble with pleasurable elation, exultingly proved. The women's caps
were closer together than ever; they were pressing in a solid mass
close to the railing of the tribune to gain one last look at the figure
of the wife.

"It is she who will not sleep--"

"Poor soul, are her children with her?"

"No--and no women either. There is only the uncle."

"He is a good man, he will comfort her!"

"_Faut prier le bon Dieu!_"

At the court-room door there was a last glimpse of the stricken figure.
She disappeared into the blackness of the night, bent and feeble,
leaning with pitiful attempt at dignity on the uncle's arm. With the
dawn she would learn her husband's fate. The jury would be out all
night.

"You see, madame, it is she who must really suffer in the end." We were
also walking into the night, through the bushes of the garden, to the
dark of the streets. Our landlady was guiding us, and talking volubly.
She was still under the influence of the past hour's excitement. Her
voice trembled audibly, and she was walking with brisk strides through