maintained myself honestly in them, I owe no one anything.'
Then she ceased to speak, and stood without indifference, but without anxiety, with a tranquil and haughty simplicity and repose.
The judge was perplexed.
'How long did the child live?' he asked.
'Only seven days.'
'Of what did he die?'
'I cannot tell; he faded as the flowers do when the sun is too hot.'
'Why did you not give him Christian burial?'
Her old scorn flashed in fire from her eyes.
'Christian burial?—to pay a stranger to dig a hole, and mumble something, and then to go away and forget?'
'It is the law of the land.'
'The law is cruel, and foolish, and blind,' she said coldly, thinking of how in Mantua the law had condemned an innocent man, and honoured and praised the murderer.
'The law is sacred and omnipotent, as you will find,' said the judge in rising anger. 'Who was your lover?'
