A few days later M. Thiers admitted that Adam was right. This eventful year was now drawing to a close. The late autumn had come, and it was time for the Adams to shut up their salon and go to Bruyères for the winter. “But how,” writes Juliette, “could we discontinue our evenings in the midst of so much agitation, when our friends passing along the boulevard like to come up and talk in our salon?” There was considerable discussion as to the advocate to defend Delescluze, who was regarded as the most important among the accused. Finally the choice fell on Gambetta. The trial took place on the 13th of November. “_La surexcitation est extrême parmi nos amis. Les plus calmes s’emportent_,” wrote Juliette.[127] The speeches for the defence were numerous and eloquent. But one alone has survived. Needless to say it was Gambetta’s. With consummate skill he converted his defence of his client into an attack upon the Empire. Posing that difficult question which has of late so often presented itself in French political life, Gambetta asked, “Can there ever be a moment, when for the sake of the public weal it is right to violate the law, to overthrow the constitution, to treat as criminal those who defend the right at the risk of their lives? Louis Napoléon, when in December 1851 he effected his _coup d’état_, considered that such a moment had arrived. But surely,” exclaimed this fearless republican, “this is not the time to justify such an act, for here we are in the prætorium of the judge, here the voice of the law alone should make itself heard.” These words, as it may well be imagined, created an enormous effect in the court. There was absolute silence. The audience seemed to hold its breath. The parts were transposed: the defender had become the accuser. Several times the President endeavoured to interrupt. But such remonstrances as “Really, Maître Gambetta, you ought to reserve that for your peroration,” as well as the objections of the opposing counsel, passed unobserved amidst the thunder of that tremendous voice. Gambetta merely redoubled his vehemence. He walked up and down, he struck with his hand on the bar in front of him. His attitude no longer was one of defence, but rather of rebellion. His disordered hair, his floating gown, his collar thrown open, his crumpled cap, which he was constantly putting on and taking off—everything betrayed the intensity of an avenging wrath indifferent to everything save the one matter which kindled it. “On the 2nd of December,” cried Gambetta, “they tried to deceive Paris with the provinces, the provinces with Paris. Steam and telegraphy were instruments in the hands of the new _régime_. Throughout the departments ran the announcement, Paris submits. Paris submits? Why, Paris was assassinated, shot down, cannonaded.” Then like a defiance resounded the concluding ironical appeal to the Empire—