The two
retired from the room. The _plantons_, finding the expected wolf a lamb,
flourished their revolvers about Jean and threatened him in the
insignificant and vile language which _plantons_ use to anyone whom they
can bully. Jean kept repeating dully "_laissez-moi tranquille. Ils
voulaient me tuer._" His chest shook terribly with vast sobs.
Now the Surveillant returned and made a speech, to the effect that he had
received independently of each other the stories of four men, that by all
counts _le negre_ was absolutely to blame, that _le negre_ had caused an
inexcusable trouble to the authorities and to his fellow-prisoners by
this wholly unjustified conflict, and that as a punishment the _negre_
would now suffer the consequences of his guilt in the _cabinot_.--Jean
had dropped his arms to his sides. His face was twisted with anguish. He
made a child's gesture, a pitiful hopeless movement with his slender
hands. Sobbing he protested: "It isn't my fault, _monsieur le
Surveillant!_ They attacked me! I didn't do a thing! They wanted to kill
me! Ask him"--he pointed to me desperately. Before I could utter a
syllable the Surveillant raised his hand for silence: _le negre_ had done
wrong. He should be placed in the _cabinot_.
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