With burning eyes I looked upon the scene beneath me. Camus had just concluded his evidence, and was bowing to the court, a smile on his traitor's face as he listened to some words of compliment addressed to him by De Mouchy. Simon, the man I wanted, was nowhere to be seen, though my eyes, fierce with hatred, searched for him everywhere. But on a seat beside the judge was La Valentinois herself, radiantly beautiful, now fluttering her fan, now sniffing daintily at her vinaigrette, as she bent her frosty glance on the prisoners. One was old Ferrieres. Like a dying man, he leaned back in a chair that had been provided for him, for his wounds left him no strength to stand. His eyes were closed. He seemed to have fainted, and was oblivious of what was going on around him, whilst death had already set its seal upon his haggard and drawn face. Mademoiselle stood by his side, a hand resting on his chair. For one brief second our eyes met, and she smiled at me--a brave smile--and I bent my head in sorrow, for I could not look. It needed not the cry of the ushers in the court for silence. Every tongue was still. There was not a whisper, not a movement, for all felt that the supreme moment had arrived. De Mouchy bent over his papers. I heard them rustling; and then La Valentinois, leaning forward, said something to him in a low voice. There was a word to an usher, and once more the insupportable silence. In a little we heard the steady tramp of feet. Nearer and nearer the sound came. A side door in the body of the court was opened, and a third prisoner was brought in and placed before the judge. Craning forward I looked. It was De Ganache; but how changed from the once brilliant cavalier. His figure was stooped and bent, his once dark hair was white, his face wrinkled as that of an old man, and in his shifty, unsettled glance glared the fires of madness. He did not seem to realise where he was, but began to laugh vacantly, but the laugh died away to a frozen look as his gaze fixed itself on La Valentinois. "Diane," he cried in a terrible voice as he stretched his arms out towards her, "it was for your sake!" But she, his destroyer, scarce glanced at him from her place on the judgment seat. "He is quite mad!" And with a musical laugh she leaned back, and picking out a comfit from a little jewelled box began to nibble at it daintily as De Ganache's hands fell helplessly to his sides. And now De Mouchy spoke. "Monsieur De Ganache, do you recognise the prisoners there?" De Ganache followed his glance; a shiver went through him, and as he looked a red flush mounted to his forehead. Never had I seen a man look so before, and, thank God! never after. Unspeakable shame and hopeless despair were sealed upon his face. His lips grew livid, and twice the question was repeated ere he forced himself to answer. "Yes."