the district-attorney was speaking, the
accused listened to him open-mouthed, with a sort of amazement in which
some admiration was assuredly blended. He was evidently surprised that
a man could talk like that. From time to time, at those "energetic"
moments of the prosecutor's speech, when eloquence which cannot contain
itself overflows in a flood of withering epithets and envelops the
accused like a storm, he moved his head slowly from right to left and
from left to right in the sort of mute and melancholy protest with which
he had contented himself since the beginning of the argument. Two or
three times the spectators who were nearest to him heard him say in
a low voice, "That is what comes of not having asked M. Baloup." The
district-attorney directed the attention of the jury to this stupid
attitude, evidently deliberate, which denoted not imbecility, but craft,
skill, a habit of deceiving justice, and which set forth in all its
nakedness the "profound perversity" of this man. He ended by making
his reserves on the affair of Little Gervais and demanding a severe
sentence.

At that time, as the reader will remember, it was penal servitude for
life.

The counsel for the defence rose, began by complimenting Monsieur
l'Avocat-General on his "admirable speech," then replied as best he
could; but he weakened; the ground was evidently slipping away from
under his feet.

CHAPTER X--THE SYSTEM OF DENIALS

The moment for closing the debate had arrived. The President had the
accused stand up, and addressed to him the customary question, "Have you
anything to add to your defence?"

The man did not appear to understand, as he stood there, twisting in his
hands a terrible cap which he had.

The President repeated the question.

This time the man heard it. He seemed to understand. He made a motion
like a man who is just waking up, cast his eyes about him, stared at
the audience, the gendarmes, his counsel, the jury, the court, laid
his monstrous fist on the rim of woodwork in front of his bench,
took another look, and all at once, fixing his glance upon the
district-attorney, he began to speak. It was like an eruption.
It seemed, from the manner in which the words escaped from his
mouth,--incoherent, impetuous, pell-mell, tumbling over each other,--as
though they were all pressing forward to issue forth at once. He said:--

"This is what I have to say. That I have been a wheelwright in Paris,
and that it was with