Of the few persons in the court who at once foresaw the effect of Danville’s answer on the proceedings of the tribunal, Lomaque was one.  His sallow face whitened as he looked toward the prisoners’ platform.

“They are lost,” he murmured to himself, moving out of the group in which he had hitherto stood.  “Lost!  The lie which has saved that villain’s head leaves them without the shadow of a hope.  No need to stop for the sentence—­Danville’s infamous presence of mind has given them up to the guillotine!” Pronouncing these words, he went out hurriedly by a door near the platform, which led to the prisoners’ waiting-room.

Rose’s head sank again on her brother’s shoulder.  She shuddered, and leaned back faintly on the arm which he extended to support her.  One of the female prisoners tried to help Trudaine in speaking consolingly to her; but the consummation of her husband’s perfidy seemed to have paralyzed her at heart.  She murmured once in her brother’s ear, “Louis!  I am resigned to die—­nothing but death is left for me after the degradation of having loved that man.”  She said those words and closed her eyes wearily, and spoke no more.

“One other question, and you may retire,” resumed the president, addressing Danville.  “Were you cognizant of your wife’s connection with her brother’s conspiracy?”

Danville reflected for a moment, remembered that there were witnesses in court who could speak to his language and behavior on the evening of his wife’s arrest, and resolved this time to tell the truth.

“I was not aware of it,” he answered.  “Testimony in my favor can be called which will prove that when my wife’s complicity was discovered I was absent from Paris.”

Heartlessly self-possessed as he was, the public reception of his last reply had shaken his nerve.  He now spoke in low tones, turning his back on the spectators, and fixing his eyes again on the green baize of the table at which he stood.

“Prisoners, have you any objection to make, any evidence to call, invalidating the statement by which Citizen Danville has cleared himself of suspicion?” inquired the president.

“He has cleared himself by the most execrable of all falsehoods,” answered Trudaine.  “If his mother could be traced and brought here, her testimony would prove it.”

“Can you produce any other evidence in support of your allegation?” asked the president.

“I cannot.”

“Citizen Superintendent Danville, you are at liberty to retire.  Your statement will be laid before the authority to whom you are officially responsible.  Either you merit a civic crown for more than Roman virtue, or—­” Having got thus far, the president stopped abruptly, as if unwilling to commit himself too soon to an opinion, and merely repeated, “You may retire.”

Danville left the court immediately, going out again by the public door.  He was followed by murmurs from the women’s benches, which soon ceased, however, when the president was observed to close his note-book, and turn round toward his colleagues.  “The sentence!” was the general whisper now.  “Hush, hush—­the sentence!”