Could the demon who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy?
I could not sustain the horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in agony.

The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.
I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness.

In the morning I went to the court; my lips and throat were parched.

I dared not ask the fatal question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my visit.

The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine was condemned.
I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt.