In order to arouse her, a police officer was obliged to shake her unmercifully, and the president had to raise his voice, — “Girl, you are of the Bohemian race, addicted to deeds of witchcraft. You, in complicity with the bewitched goat implicated in this suit, during the night of the twenty-ninth of March last, murdered and stabbed, in concert with the powers of darkness, by the aid of charms and underhand practices, a captain of the king’s arches of the watch, Phoebus de Ch�teaupers. Do you persist in denying it?”

“Horror!” exclaimed the young girl, hiding her face in her hands.

“My Phoebus! Oh, this is hell!”

“Do you persist in your denial?” demanded the president coldly.