His eye went to the center of the courtyard, to a table flanked by torches, littered with papers, bottles, and the glint of steel; behind which, installed as judge, Dossonville recognized the huissier Maillard. A score of Marseillais, stained with blood, reeling from sleep or drunkenness, churned about this improvised tribunal, interrupting with their revilings the testimony of the accused, or swaggered back and forth through the gate that led to the mob. Some clustered in corners to drink from the bottles that a wine-merchant constantly renewed; others nonchalantly lighted pipes, stretched their arms and yawned. In the lull between executions Dossonville heard a snore. Amid this carnage one man, stretched on a bench, was unconcernedly asleep. "There's a man who's not disturbed by trifles," he muttered. At the slight shift he made, one of his guards pricked him with his sword, crying angrily: "Move again, and I'll cut you to ribbons!" "I am become a statue," Dossonville answered coolly. "Only, do not bear too hard. I am ticklish." Ahead of him, a priest without hope told his beads; while before the tribunal was a man so bowed with years that he had to be supported on either side. All at once, seeking in the crowd, Dossonville perceived Javogues. "Aïe! aïe!" he mumbled uneasily at the sight of that gloating face. "What ferocity! He is bound to make sure of me. The animal!" He turned stoically from the Marseillais to the judges, where, to his amazement, he perceived a movement of clemency toward the accused. Suddenly the voice of Maillard appealed to the crowd: "Citoyens, whatever the condition or the crimes of this feeble plaything of time, I declare to you that it is unworthy of the Republic to pursue here its vengeance! When nature, for eighty years, has spared one from peril of sickness, shock of accident, and the din of battles, man cannot show himself more pitiless than nature. Citoyens, I demand the handful of years for this venerable man." An approving murmur saluted this oratorical appeal, broken by the strident voice of Javogues: "Traitors have no age. If he is an aristocrat, let him die!" Maillard, encouraged by the cries of dissent, extended his arm over the broken figure and said impressively: "Whatever this man has been, exists no more. The Republic can take no vengeance here, for it can deprive this man of nothing. Citoyens, let him be acquitted." "Well said." "He speaks well." "Free him!" "Bravo. Free him!" The acquitted man, aware of what had happened, was led away by the guards. The priest was put in his place, Dossonville moving nearer. But now the executioners without the gates, growing impatient, smote the air with their cries: "More victims!" "Hurry up!" "No ceremony with the aristocrat!" "Hurry up! More! More!" "Give us more! We want more!" "Maillard, we are thirsty!" The judge, addressing the quiet victim, proceeded methodically: "Jean Marie Latour?" "I am he." "Called Brother Francis?"