Seeing the eyes still open but fixed, seeing the blood which had stained his sheets and even his hands, recognizing his own surgical instrument beside him, Prosper Magnan fainted and fell into the pool of Wahlenfer's blood."It was," he said to me, "the punishment of my thoughts." When he recovered consciousness he was in the public room, seated on a chair, surrounded by French soldiers, and in presence of a curious and observing crowd.He gazed stupidly at a Republican officer engaged in taking the testimony of several witnesses, and in writing down, no doubt, the "proces-verbal." He recognized the landlord, his wife, the two boatmen, and the servant of the Red Inn.The surgical instrument which the murderer had used--[Here Monsieur Taillefer coughed, drew out his handkerchief to blow his nose, and wiped his forehead.These perfectly natural motions were noticed by me only; the other guests sat with their eyes fixed on Monsieur Hermann, to whom they were listening with a sort of avidity.
The purveyor leaned his elbow on the table, put his head into his right hand and gazed fixedly at Hermann.From that moment he showed no other sign of emotion or interest, but his face remained passive and ghastly, as it was when I first saw him playing with the stopper of the decanter.]
The surgical instrument which the murderer had used was on the table with the case containing the rest of the instruments, together with Prosper's purse and papers.The gaze of the assembled crowd turned alternately from these convicting articles to the young man, who seemed to be dying and whose half-extinguished eyes apparently saw nothing.A confused murmur which was heard without proved the presence of a crowd, drawn to the neighborhood of the inn by the news of the crime, and also perhaps by a desire to see the murderer.The step of the sentries placed beneath the windows of the public room and the rattle of their accoutrements could be heard above the talk of the populace; but the inn was closed and the courtyard was empty and silent.
Incapable of sustaining the glance of the officer who was gathering his testimony, Prosper Magnan suddenly felt his hand pressed by a man, and he raised his eyes to see who his protector could be in that crowd of enemies.He recognized by his uniform the surgeon-major of the demi-brigade then stationed at Andernach.The glance of that man was so piercing, so stern, that the poor young fellow shuddered, and suffered his head to fall on the back of his chair.A soldier put vinegar to his nostrils and he recovered consciousness.Nevertheless his haggard eyes were so devoid of life and intelligence that the surgeon said to the officer after feeling Prosper's pulse,--"Captain, it is impossible to question the man at this moment.""Very well! Take him away," replied the captain, interrupting the surgeon, and addressing a corporal who stood behind the prisoner."You cursed coward!" he went on, speaking to Prosper in a low voice, "try at least to walk firmly before these German curs, and save the honor of the Republic."This address seemed to wake up Prosper Magnan, who rose and made a few steps forward; but when the door was opened and he felt the fresh air and saw the crowd before him, he staggered and his knees gave way under him.
"This coward of a sawbones deserves a dozen deaths! Get on!" cried the two soldiers who had him in charge, lending him their arms to support him.
"There he is!--oh, the villain! the coward! Here he is! There he is!"These cries seemed to be uttered by a single voice, the tumultuous voice of the crowd which followed him with insults and swelled at every step.During the passage from the inn to the prison, the noise made by the tramping of the crowd and the soldiers, the murmur of the various colloquies, the sight of the sky, the coolness of the air, the aspect of Andernach and the shimmering of the waters of the Rhine,--these impressions came to the soul of the young man vaguely, confusedly, torpidly, like all the sensations he had felt since his waking.There were moments, he said, when he thought he was no longer living.
I was then in prison.Enthusiastic, as we all are at twenty years of age, I wished to defend my country, and I commanded a company of free lances, which I had organized in the vicinity of Andernach.A few days before these events I had fallen plump, during the night, into a French detachment of eight hundred men.We were two hundred at the most.My scouts had sold me.I was thrown into the prison of Andernach, and they talked of shooting me, as a warning to intimidate others.The French talked also of reprisals.My father, however, obtained a reprieve for three days to give him time to see General Augereau, whom he knew, and ask for my pardon, which was granted.Thus it happened that I saw Prosper Magnan when he was brought to the prison.He inspired me with the profoundest pity.Though pale, distracted, and covered with blood, his whole countenance had a character of truth and innocence which struck me forcibly.To me his long fair hair and clear blue eyes seemed German.A true image of my hapless country.I felt he was a victim and not a murderer.At the moment when he passed beneath my window he chanced to cast about him the painful, melancholy smile of an insane man who suddenly recovers for a time a fleeting gleam of reason.That smile was assuredly not the smile of a murderer.When I saw the jailer I questioned him about his new prisoner.
