THE TRIAL.
Political trials are all much alike, and this of Fanfar was no
exception. On the day that it was to take place the pretended assassin
and his pretended accomplice (that is to say Fanfar), were led to the
court-room, where the magistrates, in their red robes and ermine, were
seated. The newspapers, while attacking Fanfar furiously, had not
omitted to mention that the accused was excessively handsome. This
naturally brought a large number of women to the trial, and when the
prisoner appeared, there was a low hum of admiration and surprise.
Fanfar's companion, the man of whom Fanfar had made, it was said, a
tool, excited neither admiration nor sympathy. Fanfar looked at him once
and turned away in disgust.
It is now the proper time to say that this man, whom Cyprien had chosen
to play the part of regicide, was none other than Fanfar's former enemy,
Robeccal himself, who had been found in the closet and liberated by
Cyprien.
This man had fallen so low that it mattered little to him what he did.
The lacquey Cyprien profited by this mood, and in a short time obtained
the result he desired.
To the declaration of the accused, who had been found secreted in the
Tuileries, Fanfar replied with contempt. He told who this man was, and
the crimes of which he had been guilty. All this, however, by no means
proved that he himself was innocent of participation in the crime.
Fanfar had not mentioned the affair of the deserted house, for he did
not wish his sister's name to appear. This was a great relief to
Robeccal, who, in spite of the manner in which he had been treated by La
Roulante, did not wish to get her into trouble.
The trial took its course. Robeccal wept and expressed great penitence,
said that he loved the king, etc. All this produced an excellent effect
on the jury, who considered the fellow a little simple.
Then came Fanfar's turn. He stood with arms folded on his breast, and
once turned and looked toward the end of the court-room. He probably saw
what he wished, for he smiled, and a light came into his eyes. Then he
looked again at the President, and waited. In reality there was no other
charge against him than the persistent declaration of Robeccal, but this
was by the judges considered quite proof enough of his culpability.
"You belong to a secret association, do you not?" asked the judge.
"I am a Frenchman," answered Fanfar, "and like others of this heroic
nation claim liberty of thought and action. Do you call France a secret
society?"
The President reproved Fanfar for this speech, and called him in his
anger an assassin. The young man replied, in a voice of great feeling:
"Only those," he said, "should be called assassins who have cut the
throat of France and plucked a blood-stained crown from the men!"
There was a great tumult. "Bravo! Fanfar," said a voice among the
audience.
Naturally a dozen innocent men were accused of uttering this incendiary
exclamation, while Gudel, in a quiet livery, was not interfered with.
Irene de Salves never moved her eyes from Fanfar. Finally, quiet was
restored.
"Mr. President," said Fanfar, "my father fell in the French frontier,
fighting against the Cossacks and the emigres. There are no assassins in
our family!"
From this moment the trial went on rapidly. The sentence was a foregone
conclusion.
Robeccal was condemned to death. Fanfar, under the name of Jacques
Fougere, was sentenced to the galleys for life.
But just as the sentenced was pronounced, a singular event occurred.
Fanfar rose and opened his lips as if to speak, extended his arm, and
fell full length on the floor. Cries of astonishment arose from the
crowd.
"He has killed himself!" cried some.
"He has been poisoned!" said others.
Irene hastened to find Gudel. She had seen him near the door, but he had
vanished. The crowd departed, saying to each other, sadly:
"He is dead!"
Robeccal was carried off more dead than alive. His sentence had
frightened him. Perhaps he had not unbounded confidence in the honest
people who had employed him.