The altered voice and sad expression of countenance of the old man excited in the audience a new murmur of pity.
'So then,' continued the president, 'you know of no cause to which the attempt, of which you have been the victim, may be attributed?'
'The cause,' replied Monsieur Gorsay, in a melancholy tone, 'is in my opinion that deplorable passion for play, which has already ruined so many young men worthy of a better fate. Monsieur d'Aubian played deeply and unsuccessfully: my advice could not withdraw him from this abyss, which every day became deeper. In a moment of despair he must have thought of the money which he had seen me receive some time before. Why did not the unfortunate man ask me for it, instead of seeking to gain possession of it in such a deplorable manner? If he had only placed confidence in me; if he had considered that the purse of an old friend was at his service; this fatal event could never have happened, and we should not have been both here; I in despair at being his accuser, and he----'
The old man here paused, as if intense grief had cut short his words; and his outstretched arm, which he had raised to designate Arthur by a gesture of affection, dropped heavily to his side.
This touching discourse, this mock appearance of paternal grief, produced among the spectators, and even on the benches of the judges and jury, one of those thrilling emotions which honest hearts always feel at the sight of an heroic action. Monsieur Gorsay, pitying instead of heaping curses upon his assassin, appeared to the pious part of the audience a most virtuous observer of the precepts of the gospel; the men of letters compared him to Don Gusman bestowing forgiveness upon Zamora; the women even, seduced by a greatness of soul, set off by the long white hair, studied accent, eyes expressive in spite of age; in a word, by all the dramatic accessories which are so effective, suddenly transferred to the magnanimous old man the interest which most of them until then had preserved for the young accused.
'How handsome he must have been forty years ago!' cried one of them, in an artless transport.
'He is so still,' replied her neighbor, outdoing her in this admiration; 'moral beauty has no age. What generosity! What nobleness! I can now comprehend how Madame Gorsay should have fallen dangerously ill at the prospect of losing him.'