When she appeared, leaning upon Tika, deep silence reigned among the spectators,--a silence full of respect and compassion. The Prince of Tosa arrived at the same moment. He raised his eyes to her; but she let fall upon him a look so charged with hate and scorn that his head sank; and seating himself upon the folding-chair, he gave a sign for the prisoner to be brought in. The latter came forward nonchalantly, with a disdainful smile upon his lips. His chains had been removed, and he toyed with his fan. Two executioners walked behind him, bare-legged, dressed in black tunics confined at the waist by a belt, in which was a long sword. He stepped upon the white mat which was to be reddened with his blood a few moments later; then he raised his head. Fatkoura felt a strange thrill. The man who stood before her was not the Prince of Nagato. The gaze of the enamoured girl, which had lingered so often and so long upon the features of the beloved, could not be deceived even by a resemblance which cheated the whole world. She did not hesitate an instant. She did not see the brilliant eye, or the melancholy smile, or the haughty brow of him who filled her heart. "I knew that he could not be conquered and humiliated," she said to herself, seized by a wild joy, which she with difficulty disguised. The prisoner's doom was read aloud. He was condemned to have his hands, and then his head, hewn off. "The infamy with which you would brand me does but dishonor you," exclaimed the prisoner. "My hands have never committed any but noble deeds, and do not deserve to be severed from the arms which guided them. But invent whatever torments you please, torture me as you will, I shall remain a prince, and you sink to the rank of on executioner. I fought with all my strength against the enemies of our legitimate lord; you betrayed him for another, who betrayed him too, and you craftily attacked my kingdom when there was no ground for war between us. You wanted my head to sell it to Hieyas for a good price; the dishonor is yours. What do I care for your ridiculous sentence!" "Who is this man who speaks so boldly?" thought Fatkoura. The Samurais approved the prisoner's words; they declared their dissatisfaction to the Prince of Tosa. "Do not refuse him the death of a noble," they said; "he has done nothing to merit such severity." Tosa's soul was filled with rage. "My vengeance is not sufficient," said he, gnashing his teeth; "I wish I could think of something still more dreadful." "But you can think of nothing," said the prisoner, laughing; "you always lacked imagination. Do you recollect, when you followed me in the merry pranks which I invented? You never could originate anything; but your brain next day would rehearse our inventions of the day before." "Enough!" shouted Tosa; "I will tear off your flesh with pincers, and pour boiling pitch into your wounds." "That is only an improvement on the moxas invented by physicians. Try again; that's a trifle."