Marguerite is seated just behind the jury; I
know why she chose that seat: she wished to study me to the best
advantage. I try to catch her eye; she will not look at me. For
three hours my eloquence storms. The judge acknowledges to a tear,
the jurors reach for their handkerchiefs, the people in the court
room sob like the skies of autumn. As I finish, the accused arises
and addresses the court: 'May it please your honor, in the face of
such a masterly prosecution, I can no longer pretend to be
innocent. Sir (addressing me), I congratulate you upon your
magnificent service to the commonwealth. Gentlemen of the jury,
you need not retire to bring in any verdict: I bring it in myself,
I am guilty, and my only wish is to be hanged. I suggest that you
have it done at once in order that nothing may mar the success of
this occasion!' That night Marguerite sends for me: that would
have been the time for declaration! I have a notion that if I can
extricate myself without wounding this poor little innocent, to
forswear matrimony and march on to fame."
"March on to bed."
"Marguerite is going to give a ball, uncle, a brilliant ball merely
to celebrate this irrepressible efflux and panorama of her
emotions. Watch me at that ball, uncle! Mark the rising Romeo of
the firm when Marguerite, the youthful Juliet of this town--"
A hand waved him quietly toward his bedroom.
"Well, good night, sir, good night. When the lark sings at
heaven's gate I'll greet thee, uncle.
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